Dancing with Angels
by Yeziel Moore
Summary: One-shots, drabbles, etc., featuring mainly Harry but not exclusively. And angels, let's not forget the angels. - Summaries, real rating and warnings inside each chapter.  Ta-ta!
1. Healer

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, archangel Raphael._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Implied child-abuse._**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry had a little help._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:**_ 1027._

**AN:**_ Don't read this expecting a coherent and long story. It's not. These are going to be one-shots, some leaning more towards drabbles, and others will look like plot-bunnies. The only thing in common between them are the angels. Besides that, I'm giving myself free reign. _

_Rating, warnings and summaries are specific for each chapter, if you don't read them and found something you don't like then don't come crying to me. I'm gonna laugh at you. _

_If any of you is interested in expanding the bunny farm, you're welcome as long as you tell me. I wanna know and read it :)_

_Ideas are welcome too. Just so you know._

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><p><strong>1. Healer. <strong>

This time Harry knew he wouldn't make it. He had been hurt many times in the past, more times than any child of eight years of age had any right to claim. But now, as he laid in the bloodied cot that was his bed, inside the cupboard under the stairs that was his bedroom, Harry understood that this time was final and that there wouldn't be a next day to cook breakfast, go to school or do his chores. There wouldn't be another beating, or yelling or another peaceful walk in the park. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or upset. He _did_ feel the urge to cry but didn't give into it. He wasn't a little kid anymore, he may be only eight but he was broken, small and dying. He had no innocence left to spare, he had no more tears to shed. So no, he was most definitely not a kid.

He supposed it didn't matter anyway. His breath was labored and shallow at best and his heartbeats were getting slower faster and faster, and didn't that sound funny? He thought so.

His eyes, so green and at another time -life maybe- so full of life, were dull and full of pain just shy of agony. They were open still and he was staring at the endless darkness that had always been there, embracing him, comforting him. This time, however, he gained no comfort in his little pocket of nothingness, his eyes may've been open but he was not seeing. He was a blind man -child- drowning under too much pressure. That's how his chest felt like anyway, as if an elephant had stomped all over him.

Well, Vernon could be considered an elephant if you had enough imagination and looked at the picture with an eye covered, so yeah, it was accurate enough for Harry.

Everything was fading at the edges of his senses when, suddenly, it stopped. Sort of. Harry blinked dry eyes, unsure of where the pain had gone to or if maybe -_finally_- he had died. He was no masochist so he really hoped it was the latter and nor a trick of his mind. His hopes were dashed when a bright light came to life in front of his already aching eyes, which didn't help any, mind you. The light grew so bright that he had to close his eyes least he blinded himself for stupidly looking onto the sun that had, apparently, taken residence in his cramped cupboard.

A sun that was accompanied by the sharp explosion of a thousand thunders and the soothing sound of rushing water.

He had no time to ponder those oddities before he felt an electrifying touch on his forehead. From that point warmth like the first rays of the sun in the morning filled him, chasing away seven years of pain and abuse.

If this was Heaven then Harry didn't want to wake up.

It wasn't, unfortunately. All too soon the warmth receded, although it didn't leave him, not completely. The light started to fade in the same way but before it left Harry's thin hand shot forwards without his consent. The boy had no idea that lights could stiffen until then, or that they were softer than silk to the touch. He blinked in surprise before deciding that it wasn't important.

Fearlessly he lifted his head and fixed his intense gaze on the other, much more intense and intimidating, gaze, although he couldn't see eyes anywhere. Weird. He blinked once more.

"Thank you angel," Harry whispered dully but with an undercurrent of gratitude that wasn't lost on the higher being. The child's hand fell limply to his side.

Raphael considered the child in front of him, the one he had been watching for the past eight years in relative peace when not occupied somewhere else with his more important duties. Raphael disliked humans in general, hated them even, after all the pain their short and pathetic existences had caused for his beloved family. He didn't understand them either, which meant that he was curious about them, if only because he was a scholar and for the sake of knowledge. Truth was they were as much of a mystery to him as his brethren was to them. But, in Raphael's opinion, this little human took the cake. For whatever reason Raphael simply couldn't wrap his thousands-of-years-old head around this one insignificant creature.

He couldn't even fathom the reason that pushed him to heal the boy, except that he _was_ a healer and heal others was kind of his job, duh. Still, that wasn't the real reason. If only he knew what was.

"Don't let it happen again," said the archangel in a voice much colder and harsh than he intended. Not that he had any idea of what he had intended to say or how.

In spite of this, Harry smiled at him. It was a sad and tired smile, the kind of smile that the archangel expected to see in his older brother face not in a child's -barely a cherub in comparison- face. It made his chest ache in a way that no human had managed to inspire since Lucifer's downfall.

"Goodbye, angel."

A flare of light and a sound like thunder later and Harry was alone again. Truly alone. The presence that now he wouldn't forget no matter what, was nowhere near the Number Four of Privet Drive. The little wizard -even if he, himself, had no idea of that fact- was not offended by what could be considered a very abrupt meeting and a less than polite dismissal. What reasons could he have to be upset? His family called him freak, monster and abomination and, even though he knew that those were lies, the fact that his own family hated him so much spoke louder than a thousand insults. He was unwanted and a burden. The angel probably had been ordered to help him or something. It didn't matter. Harry was grateful for the respite, reasons aside.

For the first time in years Harry slept through the night.

He dreamt about thunder and rain.


	2. Angelic radio: Home

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Implied child-abuse._**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry tuned in a very special station._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:**_ 672._

**AN:**_ Yesterday I saw "The song remains the same" in which Anna reappears (and is a bitch but that's beside the point). That made me remember the first time she appeared and whoala! Instant idea. Sort of. _

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><p><strong>2. Angelic radio: Home.<strong>

For a very long time Harry had been able to hear things.

Voices, to be precise.

As a child, he had tried uncharacteristically hard to ignore them, because that was the kind of freaky thing his family hated and, at that time, all he had wanted for himself was to be accepted by them, loved if possible. It never happened. They had never loved him and they never would. He realized that truth when he was six years old and once more slowly freezing to death because his uncle had decided to lock him outside as punishment for… existing, most probably. Harry snorted at his dark thoughts and curled in on himself a bit more. November was cold as Hell.

For the first time in his short life Harry closed his eyes, relaxed and just listened to the multitude of beautiful voices that were always on the back of his mind, like static. He stopped paying attention to his body and the fact that, in normal circumstances, he would be dead in a couple of hours. He knew he wouldn't. He hadn't died yet, after all.

It didn't take too long for Harry to realize that he was eavesdropping on angels. _Angels!_

He had been ecstatic for a while, the best while of his life to be honest, until he realized that all the unrest he had been hearing about was his fault. The guilt had been crushing afterwards. He had learnt to treasure those moments when he could just sit quietly and listen, he had imagined countless scenarios in which the conversations may have been taking place, thousands of things he would love to say if only he could gather the courage to speak. It had been his little slice of Heaven -no pun intended- in the hellish loneliness of his life.

That was before he found out just how little angels liked humans. Then he was afraid and angered because angels weren't supposed to be like that, right? They weren't supposed to be barely reigning in their eagerness for the Apocalypse to arrive. It wasn't right. Except that, apparently, that was the truth.

He still couldn't stop himself from listening though. He consoled himself by thinking that if the angels wanted humanity to end then it was for the best if he was prepared. Right? Right.

He was nine now and he had been eavesdropping on Heaven's grapevine for the best part of six years. Sometimes the sharp but soothing lilt of the voices was the only things that kept him mostly grounded and going when otherwise he would've preferred not to bother anymore. Other times he became so angry that all he wanted was to rage and rave to the angels about their shared stupidity and how it was clear that they knew jack squat about humans in general. They knew even less than him and he knew so little thanks to his almost absolute isolation courtesy of his family and himself that he may as well be from another species altogether.

He kept silent, however. He didn't know what could happen if he managed to insert himself in one of those conversations. At the very least they would find him and then he would be dead in no time, he was certain of it. Harry was aware of how dangerous this was, how reckless and counterproductive to his continued survival but, for the life of him, he couldn't stop.

So yes, it may've been stupid and reckless and it would probably cost him his life one day, but none of that mattered because, even if he had no idea of why he risked it, even if it only lasted minutes, he would give up everything to keep these moments going. Those memories were his most treasured belongings, the only time in his life that he felt like he belonged somewhere. Even if he was as unwelcomed in Heaven as he was on Earth, it still felt like Home and that was all that mattered.


	3. The joke's on you Pt1

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Castiel, Sam and Dean.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ Not a pairing, per se, but Harry/Castiel._**  
>Rating: <strong>_T_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Slash, but not quite, I dunno, an erotic scene and a bit of kissing._**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry conned a perpetually confused angel into pranking the brothers._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:**_ 2007._

**AN:**__ Not much to add. Just that I don't think I'm good with anything that involves romanticism in any way so I would appreciate comments on this. Though it's more erotic and playful than anything but... whatever.__

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><p><strong>3. The joke's on you. Pt, 1.<strong>

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Harry almost, _almost_, gushed, because Harry-bloody-Potter didn't gush, nu-uh, not at all, never.

His companion didn't share his enthusiasm though.

"It is unreasonable and it holds no purpose besides ephemeral and frivolous gratification," stated Castiel, his voice drier than the Sahara desert. "We have better things to do."

Harry snorted at the totally expected answer from the celestial being. "Of course we have, there are always better things to do, but frivolity plays an important part of being human, you know."

The angel tilted his head and gave the wizard a look of pure confusion. "No, I do not know. And you are not human anymore," he added almost as an afterthought.

Harry huffed, half in amusement half in aggravation, and waved a hand in the air as if to chase away a particularly bothersome mosquito.

"Details, details. So, will you help me or not? It's for the betterment of your little crew of miscreants, after all."

Castiel found the word 'miscreant' a little too fitting for them. And he knew that things were tense lately which made it very difficult for him to find a good argument that could possibly derail whatever mad plan his former charge has in store for the Winchesters. Nothing came to mind. Not fast enough anyway because the second Harry smelt doubt he plunged onwards with all the force of an out-of-control freight train and the single-mindedness of a starving shark in front of blood.

"Come on Cass, it's just a harmless prank. It will shock them, take their mind off our impending deaths for a while," he said and he was being truthful, which was probably why he convinced the angel so easily, he would muse later. "Everyone needs a moment to catch a break from time to time or we'll burn ourselves out, even you, angel or no angel. Soo, whaddaya say? Are you in?" Asked conspiratorially the black haired man. He nudged Castiel on the ribs amicably, urging him to answer, all the while sporting a wide, impish smile on his face.

At the sight Castiel sighed in defeat. He knew that smile and there was no winning an argument with Harry when he was in a mood like this one. Still… there was a little problem to address. Castile shifted and frowned. To Harry, who was more than used to the angel's non-expressions, it was easy to see the difference between _a_ frown and _this_ frown. Castiel was worried.

"I'm not going to kill them, you don't have to worry…," he stopped and it was his turn to frown, "or are you worried about something else?"

"I- I do not know how to… prank somebody," admitted the angel quietly.

"Oh!" Harry eyes lit up with understanding. "That's fine, I'll just show you what to do."

He circled the angel until they were face to face and put his right hand on Castiel's left temple. A moment later understanding replaced the confusion, the worry slowly died away, and… was that embarrassment that took its place? No way! Castiel, stoic angel of the Lord was embarrassed, complete with shifting eyes and shuffling feet. It was surreal, even to Harry who had known this particular angel for most of his life.

It was too cute.

"I do not understand how this is supposed to help."

"It will, trust me. Dean won't know what hit him, especially after the debacle at the brothel, he probably thinks you're asexual or something…" Harry trailed off and shrugged.

"I do not have a sex-"

"I know, I know, but that's not the point, the point is that they'll be surprised."

Harry was sure he could've explained that better but they didn't have much time to prepare and he had a couple of things he wanted to fetch before shocking Dean Winchester into a coma. And yes, maybe he was being a bit vindictive, but the guy had been downright mean with Cass at the beginning, which could not and would not go unpunished. Now was the perfect time. Surprising Sam was just a bonus.

For his part, Castiel still looked a bit confused and more than a little doubtful but he trusted Harry and so he nodded in acquiescence. He wouldn't try to figure out the complexity of human moods right now, he would only manage to give himself another headache.

"Great! You know what to do so let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Harry's smile was so wide that it practically lit the motel bedroom the brothers had rented and Castiel couldn't help but smile back, if only a little.

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><p>It was past noon when the impala reached the no-name motel they had rented a room for as long as they stayed in town. Which would be around a week, tops. They had just finished the typical routine of interviewing the victim's family and visiting the morgue and were visibly eager to grab a shower to get rid of the trice damned smell of death and blood that had splattered all over them thanks to the idiotic forensic who didn't even know how to differentiate between the head and the feet of a body.<p>

Dean slammed the door shut with enough force to make him cringe, which was followed by string of apologies and declarations of eternal love to his 'baby'. Sam didn't even bother to roll his eyes at his brother's antics. He loved he guy, he really did, but he was nuts.

They entered the motel through the backdoor, forbidden or not, they weren't in the mood to deal with other people freaking out about their less than stellar appearance; or the police because they had the serial killer look down to a tee. However, they stopped dead on their tracks when they reached their door. There was somebody in their room, at least two persons if not more, but they couldn't be sure without visual. For all they knew there could be ten armed guys in complete silence just waiting to jump them. They strained their ears but the intruders were speaking too low to discern anything useful.

Dean looked sideways to his little brother who nodded, gun in hand and ready to fire. He checked his own gun and nodded back. Everything was said in that exchange. At the count of three.

Three, two, one…

"Oh, God!"

In front of them was a scene straight from a horror movie, or one of Dean's porno movies, Sam's brain bravely supplied even after being short-circuited.

Castiel, the freaking angel of the Lord, was comfortably seated on one of the rickety chairs the motel provided, looking for the entire world as if there was no better place to be. And when you were half-naked with a half-naked person on your lap then it was most likely true. The angel was the poster picture of debauched. His dark-brown hair was mussed and his blue eyes were dark and half-closed. His lips were red either from kissing or from eating strawberries as could be attested by the almost empty bowl of the fruits. His tan coat and suit were haphazardly sprawled over the table and the tie was nowhere to be seen. His once upon a time white shirt was half open and stained with red in the same way that his chin and chest were.

All in all it was erotic. It was like ten thousands more erotic when you counted the slightly smaller _man_ straddling the angel. The man was handsome and he leaned a bit on the girly side but there was no way to confuse him for a member of the opposite gender. His black hair was in complete disarray and his green eyes shone with mischief that went unseen by the dumbstruck brothers. Good thing too or it would've ruined the fun.

Harry looked towards the angel surreptitiously. Castiel's blue eyes were alight with childish wonder and old-fashioned joy. His soft smile widened considerably and winked at him.

"Winchesters," Harry greeted amicably, his smile turned positively devious, "wanna join us."

Dean chocked on his own spit, eyes wide with horror and maybe a bit of lust because, his sexual preferences aside, the picture that Castiel and Harry painted was hot. Sam was no better, he was frantically shaking his head and mouthing denials that he couldn't utter.

A gravely chuckle was the thing that snapped them from their stupor… only to send them right into another shock-induced coma when they realized that It was Castiel who was laughing. The angel had never even hinted to the fact that he knew what laugher was for, much less how to do it. Harry just smirked.

"I think the correct human expression for a situation like this is something like: 'you've been had'" Said Castiel in his matter-of-fact voice, though it held a hint of deviousness. Sam and Dean gaped. Harry laughed and Castiel started to look confused. Again. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no you didn't. It was just funny." He snickered again and shook his head at the celestial being antics. He remembered a time when they used to bother him, now he merely found it endearing. He removed himself from the angel's lap and straightened his clothes, seemingly not worried about the stains and wrinkles. Castiel stood up and copied him but didn't bother with the rest of his normal assemble. "Well, this was the most fun I've had in the past months," Harry smirked at the flustered Winchesters and winked at them, much to their shared confusion. Confusion seemed to be the most popular emotion that day. "Thanks Cass."

The angel nodded, a small, unconscious smile still present in the handsome face of his vessel. He was still enjoying the remnants of the strange feeling that had grown so strong in his chest a moment ago that he had to release it somehow, thus the laugher. Harry was right about one thing, he felt better, as if their world wide problems and responsibilities had dwindled, not gone but more bearable, less crushing. He was so lost in his introspection that he failed to notice the devious glint that had been rekindled on the wizard's green eyes. He most certainly noticed something was off the moment Harry grabbed his rumpled shirt and crushed their lips together.

Castiel was too shocked to respond. His eyes widened to comic proportions, his breath stopped and he was positive that his vessel's heart was trying to dig its way out of his chest, which couldn't be healthy. The influx of sensations was overwhelming but not necessarily bad, quite the contrary if his shy attempt to kiss back was anything to go by.

Much too soon it was over. Harry stepped back and smiled at the image that the flustered angel presented. Castiel's breathing was hard and it was painfully obvious that he was confused about almost everything that had just occurred. He could see mischief in the wizard's eyes but there was more in that gaze than that: Harry cared deeply for him and it showed. Castiel's confusion morphed into wariness when those emerald eyes twinkled in a scary imitation of Dumbledore.

Castiel yelped and jumped, his eyes goggled and his hands unconsciously went to his stinging ass. Had Harry spanked him? The thought made him blush so hard that he could put mature tomatoes to shame. Harry winked at him unabashedly.

"Well, I'm off." And with that he disappeared.

There was a moment of incredulous silence that was broken by Sam's amused exclamation of: "Punk'd!"

The three fighters against the Apocalypse looked at each other, different levels of bewilderment and amusement clearly visible on their faces. And in Castiel's case embarrassment, perfectly clear thanks to his beet-red face. Dean snorted and that was it.

On the other side of the motel the manager was startled by the sound of rambunctious laugher. He shook his head and muttered something about weirdoes before going back to his nap.


	4. The joke's on you Pt2

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Castiel, Sam, Dean and Loki/Gabriel.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ Harry/Castiel, sort of._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Failed attempt at humour, nonsense._**  
>Summary: <strong>Team Free Will want revenge on Harry. They call in a specialist.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:** _2553_

**AN:**_ I've discovered that I'm way better with romanticism than I'm at humour, which is sad 'cause I don't trust myself with romance at all. _

_I don't like this one very much. But it has been so long that I wanted to update something, even if it's not as good as I normally (and obsessively) strive for. I've others ideas roaming in my head, I just need to find my runaway muse._

_**Thanks a lot to all my Reviewers!**  
><em>

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><p><strong>4. The joke's on you. Pt.2 – Payback's a bitch, but for whom?<strong>

Looking at the sheer devastation the Archangel-turned-Trickster and the Human-turned-something-else had left in their wake, team Free Will could only groan in unison. Well, Sam and Dean groaned, Cass merely watched with eyes bigger than a full moon and mouth wide open. They were severely questioning the wisdom of their choice of help.

It all started the day after Harry had pranked all of them, even Cass, who still was lost in la-la-land. Dean wasn't sure what to think of that and honestly he didn't think he wanted to know what was going on behind those steely blue eyes. He didn't need another trauma to add to the absurdly long list, _thankyouverymuch_. But as I said, everything started the day after, when Dean decided that they were going to pay Harry back with the same coin.

They spent almost an entire week brainstorming, and by 'they' I mean Sam and Dean because Cass ideas... well, let's say there weren't useful... as in, not at all. In the end all they had to show for their efforts was a big bag of nothing. Their methods may've worked on each other but they would never work on a wizard, much less Harry. So they were struck. They needed better ideas, they needed the power to pull them off, in short, they needed help. It was then that Dean had the third worst idea on modern history -the first being Sam's brilliant idea of female companion which brought about the Apocalypse, and the second this whole thing.

They needed help to trick a tricky enemy, what better that the master of tricks himself?

And that's how they ended in such a situation. More or less. Gabriel, or Loki as he preferred, had gleefully accepted the challenge presented to him by Dean-o. How could he not? The chance to prank the Master of Death himself, presented to him by his two favourite subjects and his littlest brother? Priceless.

At first, things had gone quite well, in an almost normal way, you know. They had managed to trick Harry into coming to the town they were temporally staying, they went over business –because the Apocalypse didn't deserve any other treatment- and after hours of heated arguing and nothing new that would contribute to the cause, they went to eat. And that's when Harry was turned into a pigeon, right after biting into his treacle tart.

They really should have seen the resulting disaster coming. Everybody and their grandmothers knew that you didn't mess with Harry's treacle tart, you just _didn't_. Not if you wanted to see another sunrise at least.

Just as everybody with eyes and a quarter of a brain knew that it was suicidal on the highest degree to touch Loki's sweets. Which is exactly what Harry did after regaining his human form, he turned all the sweets in the entire _world_ into potatoes, of all the things, during Halloween. How he did it would remain a mystery forever, the same way that Loki's nearly catatonic form would remain one of Dean's more memorable memories for the days to come.

'_At least he had the decency to choose sweet potatoes, that has to count for something, right?'_, thought Sam in dismay. Somehow he knew that nobody, especially the rioting children of the world, would appreciate the Master of Death's little consideration, if it could be called that instead of outright mocking.

Sam had always been a believer of seeing the glass half-full. A commendable trait, especially considering their fucked-up lives.

One thing was for sure, if they hadn't clued in before, after Halloween team Free Will knew for sure that they were royally screwed in all the ways that counted and some ways that hadn't been invented yet.

"When do you think they will stop?" asked a frazzled looking Sam. The three of them were holed up in the brother's motel room waiting for the storm to pass them by or for the world to burn up in a shower of supernatural flames. "Will they ever stop?"

Dean growled. Sammy had been asking those same questions for the past day or so. His answer was still the same, with the difference that each one was more violent: "How the Hell should I know, stop asking stupid questions Sammy!"

Another explosion, this one a little too close for comfort, rocked the motel room to its foundations, the windows rattled uncontrollably and dirt fell from the ceiling and onto their heads. As if coordinated, the three of them turned towards the dirty window but none dared to look more closely at the world beyond the dirtied glass.

Until, finally -predictably- Dean snapped.

"Okay, I've had enough of this shit!"

"Wha-? No! Dean, wait a sec-!" But it was too late, Dean had already slammed the door shut on his way out. "Damn it, Dean!"

Exasperated by his brother's behaviour Sam could do little but to follow him. Who knew what could happen to Dean when the hot-headed idiot threw himself to the wolves? Or would that be hyenas? Well, nothing good, and that was experience talking. Not that Sam couldn't understand the feeling of going stir crazy after three days of staying put, all because of the insanity they had -stupidly- unleashed upon the unsuspecting town. Thank God that Cass still had enough angel-mojo in him to conjure them some food and drinks or they wouldn't have lasted twelve hours.

Sam ran through the ghastly painted front door and almost bowled over Dean who was just standing there like the moron he was. He had a complete string of recriminations and curses itching to be spewed but all of them died out in his throat when his eyes found the same spot his brother's eyes were dumbly fixated on. His instincts warned him the second a third presence got too close but a familiarity built with long periods of willing and unwilling company told him that it was Castiel. Not that it mattered. Had Lucifer decided to show up right then he wasn't sure how or _if_ he would've reacted at all.

What could've produced such a reaction, you are surely asking yourself. I am asking myself that same question so why don't we take a look.

The parking lot, or what used to be the motel's parking lot, was now a lavishly decorated ball room taken right out of a Disney movie, complete with expensive hangings made out of authentic silk, an orchestra, waiters and, of all the things, ice sculptures. Those would've been more beautiful if they didn't depict things like dragons, hippogriffs, and other beasties. Dean gaped inelegantly and couldn't even conjure enough brain force to remember that his car _used to be_ in that park lot. He thought it was understandable, I mean, come on! What the Hell was a Ball Room straight out of the Victorian era doing in the middle of nowhere! The oldest hunter, who was really, _really_, _**really**_, regretting his idea, turned around to where he knew Sam was. He opened his mouth to say... he honestly didn't have a clue of what he could possibly say. Once more it didn't matter because as soon as Dean caught sight of his little brother his jaw fell and he choked on his own spit. Not a cool way to go.

Finally Dean recovered enough to exclaim, a bit hysterically, "I always knew you were a big girl, Samantha!"

Sam, for his part, was startled out of his stupefaction by those familiar and unwelcomed words. He turned on bitch-face #57 and focused his hazel eyes on Dean, a caustic comment ready on the tip of his tongue. The second he saw his older brother, however, he swallowed not only his comeback but he almost swallowed said tongue too.

"W-what the Hell? Dean, you... you..." Sam couldn't help it, he cracked up.

Dean frowned. Now a bit more worried than amused by the sight of his little brother in an orange dress. "What are you laughing about Sammy?" When Sam kept laughing he muttered, "It's not like I'm the one in a dress."

"Oh, yes! Yes you are!" And he laughed again, not caring overly much about the fact that his clothes had been mysteriously replaced by a weird-looking dress. With a trickster and a powerful wizard absorbed in a prank war... well, let's just say that it could've been a LOT worse.

Dean's unmanly yelp of indignation was music for Sam's ears.

"Dude! What the hell? Why am I the one in the tacky dress?"

"It's not a dress," come the voice of Castiel who was standing still behind Sam and who looked highly confused in the face of the brother's antics and not about the fact that he was cross-dressing, noted Dean wryly. "These" he motioned to their garment, "are dress robes. Commonly used by wizards and witches from Great Britain and a few other countries which prefer tradition over comfort."

Dean shot the angel an unimpressed look. "Like I said, dresses," he deadpanned and looked mournfully at his own bright yellow robe and then at Castiel's Prussian blue one. If it wasn't for the fact that it was such an alien thing to see, Dean would've been forced to admit that Castiel didn't look half as bad with the weird thing on. It may've something to do with the fact that he was always wearing a long trench coat or that, in comparison, the angel's robes were infinitely better that his or Sam's. Theirs were plain ridiculous. "I bet this was Gabriel's idea."

"Ding-ding! We have a winner!" Said Harry out of the blue.

"God-fucking-damnit! Don't do that!" Shouted Sam and Dean at the same time, only to be summarily ignored.

"Looking good Cass," complimented the Master of Death with an easy smile that was just a little strained.

Castiel looked down at his deep blue robes with golden lining and fastenings. He honestly had no knowledge about human garments besides the basics, whether they came from the normal or wizarding world, so, like always, he took Harry's word as the truth.

"Thank you," he acknowledged and tried, for the first time, to return what he now knew was a compliment, and Harry, with his dark silver robe lined with emerald green that brought out the man's eyes deserved the try. "You too." Ok, so he could've been a bit more specific, but the guy, er, angel, was learning, slowly, very slowly. It didn't seem to bother Harry one bit though, as he practically lighted the room with his happy smile.

An impatient cough from Dean turned their attention towards him. "Well, now that the chick-flick is over," he ignored the exasperated sigh from Sam, "would somebody bother to tell me what the hell is going on right now!"

"Loki," Harry said as if that explained everything. And it did. "He, somehow and I really don't want to know, managed to get some books about my life," he made a face, "that don't really exist, by the way, not in this dimension at least. I don't think so..." a cough brought him back to the present. "Yes, anyway, this is a re-enactment from the Yule Ball in my forth year."

A beat of silence.

"WHAT?" Chorused the Winchesters. Harry almost whistled in admiration, that took some ability, he should know after knowing the Weasley twins.

"Yup!" The Master of Death said with a wide smile. He was somewhat annoyed that Loki was forcing him to revive one of the most embarrassing moments of his mortal life, but this was not then and now he had the Winchesters to annoy too. His ears perked when the music started to play. His smile transformed into a shit-eating grin. "And now it's time to dance! Come Cass, you're with me!"

He gave the angel no chance to complain as he was already tugging the higher being by their joined hands. Castiel looked back to the stumped brothers once but let himself being dragged. If this was Gabriel's doing then they wouldn't be able to leave until they did as Gabriel wanted simple as that. He, however, couldn't understand why Harry didn't just break the illusion, especially if this setting bothered the raven-haired man as much as the turmoil in his soul betrayed. He asked as much but the answer he received was not what he expected.

"If I do that I will lose the chance to dance with you, which would be a pity, don't you think?"

Not what he expected at all. Castiel's cheeks were coloured a soft pink by his embarrassment and awkwardness in all things pertaining to the heart, feelings and basically everything remotely human-ish. Not that Harry was any better in those matters mind you, he was too damaged by the horrors of his human life and the subsequent transformation to whatever he was now. The only difference between them was that Harry had more experience thanks to living as a human and was an excellent actor.

"Come, let's have some fun!" Encouraged Harry, in response to which he received a shy and slightly unsure nod.

Xxx

"I can't believe you just ditched us! What kind of friend are you?" Accused hotly Dean, while trying to dislodge the cumbersome dress robe that just wouldn't let go of him! "Ha! Take that you piece of... Ouch! What the Hell was that for, Sammy!"

"You were fighting with a piece of cloth Dean," deadpanned Sam with an unimpressed look on his face. He was seated on a chair and had already changed into more modern and familiar clothes. Dean scowled at that.

"Yeah, and you know what they say, don't you Dean-o? That talking to inanimate objects is the first sign of insanity and all that," said in mock worry Gabriel who was comfortably sprawled in the motel bed, or as comfortable as such a bed allowed. He was munching on a chocolate bar that Harry had provided as a peace offering in the cease fire agreement.

The aforementioned Harry snickered from his position on the other bed. He was laying down, one leg dangling from one side of the bed and with his head propped on Castiel's lap. He was the epitome of relaxed and looked as if he hadn't spent the past three days in a relentless prank war with a merciless archangel with a mischievous streak infinitely large and wide. Castiel, for his part, was sitting with his back against the orange and green wall. He didn't look like he was comfortable or relaxed but he was nowhere near as stiff and uncomfortable as he would've been a week ago and he had been forced in such a position.

Harry counted it as a victory.

He nearly purred when Castiel tentatively and carefully tangled his fingers on his messy hair in a gesture that was surprisingly human and nice. Assured of his actions by the green-eyed man contented smile he continued his ministrations, this time more sure of himself. Harry closed his eyes and practically melted, much to everyone's amusement. He paid them no heed but made a mental note to give Cass brownie points for this, as soon as he regained logical thought, that's it.


	5. Healer: Tempest

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Archangel Raphael.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_None that I can think of._**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry finds peace in the natural fieriness of a Storm while somebody else struggles internally._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:**_ 353._

**AN:**_ This is a companion piece to Healer, not quite a continuation, not quite and ending and not quite enough to be a fic on its own. It can stand alone, I suppose, but I would recommend reading or re-reading the other one._

_Ja ne!  
><em>

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><p><strong>5. Healer: Tempest<strong>

After that first time when he was brought back from the brink of death Harry had felt the angel's presence a couple of times. The other being was never around for long periods of time and he didn't show himself again, but in those few occasions he was there Harry felt like he could truly relax. Not that he did, mind you. No amount of calming presence could get him to drop his guard anywhere near his relatives. That would probably be his last mistake on Earth.

Still, life wasn't as bad as it used to be. The change was almost impossible to pinpoint but it was there, somewhere. Maybe it wasn't life that was better but Harry himself. It wasn't implausible and it was a comforting thought for the boy somehow.

Harry stopped his wanderings in a little clearing in the near park and simply stood there, face facing the stormy sky as he waited. Lightening fell and a thunder roared to life with all the force of an enraged god, making his unruly hair stand on end. Fifteen minutes later he was drenched and happier than ever. He had always loved the soothing quality inherent to the rain but ever since that night four months ago Harry preferred storms as they held the two things he had come to associate with peace, hope and contentment.

The irony of his choice was not lost on Harry… or his guardian angel, who watched from afar, a contemplative look on his face that betrayed nothing of his increasingly conflictive feelings, feelings that should've never existed in the first place. Only when Harry was safely inside his cupboard did Raphael returned to Heaven, all the way trying not to dwell on the reason why he stayed until then.

That night Harry Potter was peacefully lulled to sleep by the raging storm.

The same night, far away from the mortal plane a being of light, rain and knowledge was kept on high alert by a different kind of tempest, one that came from within and raged with even more fieriness than Nature's namesake.

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><p><em><span>Edited:<span> 04/01/2012_


	6. A change of plans

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Castiel.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Some swearing. Bit of angst._  
><strong>Summary<em>:<em> **_Harry receives an unexpected phone call._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot. Therefore I make no profit from this *rolls eyes*.  
><em>**Words:**_ 2469._

**AN: **_A belated Christmas Present for you girls and guys! _

_This is finished but it may have a couple of accompanying pieces in the future! I'm not sure, but I've some ideas to work on. _

_HAPPY NEW YEARS! (just in case)_

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><p><strong>6. A Change of Plans<strong>

The phone rang tirelessly for an entire minute before somebody picked up and a tired voice rough from sleep snapped a greeting that would've been better if left unsaid.

"Prankster's Lair, the fuck do you want?" The other side was silent except for the sound of deep and laboured breathing. Whoever was on the other side, Harry mused, had either been running less than a minute ago or was in some deep shit. He betted it was the latter of the two. Either way it didn't matter to Harry one bit, what _did_ matter was the fact that the other person apparently wasn't in the mood to answer a simple question, that and Harry's patience wasn't what once was.

He hung the phone.

He hadn't taken two steps away from the devise before it rang again. He gritted his teeth and briefly considered the pros and cons of 'accidentally' dropping the thing in The Void. Unfortunate, acting upon that urge meant that he would need a new phone which meant that he would have to step outside of his little pocket dimension and unto the real world. And Harry was not in the mood for that, not now and probably not ever again if he could help it. With a sigh Harry finally picked up the handset.

"Look mate, I don't know that your deal is but if you don't start talking right now I'm going to find you and I'm going to shove the fuckin' phone so far up your ass that you'll be spitting the keys for the moths to come," his only answer was, once more, silence; but this time it carried a feeling of disbelief. Harry was quite proud of that. "Well, are you going to say something or you are deaf besides being daft?"

What was said after didn't even register in Harry's mind only the knowledge of _who_ the other being was did.

Harry was sure that he had stopped breathing because the world suddenly was off focus and slightly tilted; he took a deep breath and ordered to his frantically beating heart to stop hammering like the wings of a hummingbird before he passed out like a goddamn girl. He clutched the handset tightly with one hand while the other searched futilely for some support, when he didn't find anything he let himself fall in a graceless heap to the floor. The phone crashed alongside him but Harry didn't pay it any mind.

"Castiel," he breathed, overwhelmed and unbelieving. How could he not? After all, the last thing he had heard about the angel was the fact that he had been blown into little bloody pieces by one of his more powerful brothers, Raphael. The Master of Death had been swift and merciless in his revenge against the asshole but, unfortunately, that hadn't brought his only remaining friend and surrogate brother back. "Castiel," he repeated, almost entranced, "is that really you?"

The question was stupid, Harry knew that because his magic would've warned him if the other wasn't who he said to be, as it had done countless times in the past, but he couldn't help himself. He needed reassurance and he needed it badly. His magic was thrumming under his skin, more lively that it had been in the past months after Castiel's... what? Non-death? Death and rebirth? He was pulled out of his thoughts by the familiar voice of the angel.

"Of course I am me," Castiel sounded confused and Harry wanted to laugh, cry and hit the other until he was black and blue, all at once if possible, "who else would I be?"

That answer was so Castiel that Harry couldn't hold his laugher any longer. He was just glad for the fact that Cass was still too clueless to catch the traces of hysteria present in his voice, or if he did catch it then he either didn't recognize it for what it really was or choose to ignore it for now.

"Of course you're you, I'm just being silly," Harry said, still unable to stand much less keep the awe from leaking into his voice. But god, he was so happy!

"You are acting strange," Harry snorted, when was he not? The Master of Death could almost _feel_ the frown that was marring Castiel's features.

"And you are being evasive," Harry retorted. "Now tell me what made you call me! And why didn't you call sooner, by the way? I would've greatly appreciated being notified of your continued survival, you know?"

There was a pause that somehow managed to convey the angel confusion as clearly as his head-tilt usually did. That thought made the younger of the duo swallow the painful knot that had just formed in his throat, all thanks to the memories of the aforementioned angel, a being that he hadn't expected to never see again, somebody that he had missed so acutely that for some time he thought that the pain would drive him completely over the edge.

Well, he hadn't lost it, but he had isolated himself so thoroughly that nobody would ever find track of him if he didn't want to be found. He had kept his old number, though, and through it he had kept in contact with the few people who had it, most of them hunters that wanted his advice on some of their rarer cases something he was more than happy to provide, as long as they didn't ask personal questions or for his help. He was an informant, nothing else.

The one and only time he had ventured outside his little sanctuary he had gone to retrieve a dying idiot; the idiot in question was Gabriel and he was still in a coma even after all this time. Loki or Gabriel was one of the few acquaintances, a friend really, that Harry had made after becoming an immortal and one of the livelier beings he had ever encountered, which was why he was selfishly keeping him 'alive' instead of doing his job and helping the Archangel to pass on. He had already lost his surrogate brother, he wasn't about to lose Loki too, not while he had the power to prevent it. If only he knew how to heal the feathered idiot then he would've been almost set.

"But I believe that you told me to only dial this number if I was at Death Doors," Castiel was confused, but that didn't really registered in Harry's brain, not when the words 'Death's Doors' were present in the same sentence.

"What? Don't fuckin' tell me that you're dying again!" In his happiness at hearing Cass voice again Harry hadn't noticed just how tired, how hurt, defeated and all around human the angel sounded. He had to force himself to unclench his fists least he destroy the phone. "Cass, what happened? Where are you? Just tell me and I will be there ASAP, Cass, please, tell me," he begged shamelessly. There was no place for shame when his family was endangered.

"I... I don't know... I'm not sure where I am. A hospital, somewhere."

"A hospital?" Harry repeated, voice tense, not wanting to believe the only reason that would require such a visit. Cass, as always, crushed his hopes by means of the blunt truth.

"I am human," the ex-angel said solemnly.

The wizard closed his eyes in pain and sighed. So Castiel had fallen. Harry had had the inkling that, hadn't the angel died -or so he had believed-, then he would've fallen sooner or later anyway, all because his loyalty had shifted from Heaven to the Winchesters. Harry was ashamed to admit that he had hated the brothers a bit for that, even though he was damn proud of his winged friend for his bravery and unwavering loyalty.

"Am I correct in assuming that you won't back out from the fight even now?"

"That's correct."

Harry released an explosive breath that had Castiel cringing a bit on the other side of the line. He hated disappointing Harry, even when he had been a full-fledged, robotic and emotionless angel he had loathed it. He still didn't know how, but the green-eyed man had, in a few informal meetings, managed to worm his way through the angel's defences and into his core. The experience had been scaring and disconcerting and probably the reason he questioned so much and fell so quickly later on. Not that he would change any of it; he would do it all over again if he was given the chance because Dean and Harry had taught him to do the right thing, even if you were hurt in the process, instead of taking the easy way out.

Harry knew that, knew it very well, even if he had forgotten himself a bit lately.

"I lost hope you know," Harry confessed, truly ashamed of his inaction for the first time. "When I heard that you had been killed, I stopped caring about everything. The world, the humans, everything I tried to teach you to care about I threw it away. I gave up." He swallowed. "How could I give up like that?"

Castiel contemplated Harry's words in silence for a moment. It was obvious even to him that Harry needed comfort even if he wasn't asking or even looking for it. The problem was that, no matter how human his body was, Castiel wasn't really human, he barely understood them as it was so obviously he didn't have the first clue on how to give comfort. Somehow he doubted that offering Harry a drink would help much if at all. That was Dean's path of self-destruction.

"I went looking for God," he told him instead. He remembered something about finding comfort in people that had gone through similar experiences as you. "I looked everywhere but I couldn't find him. Then, when Dean and Sam died and went to Heaven I directed them to the Garden, to Joshua..."

"What happened? What did Joshua say?" Prodded Harry gently after a too long pause. He had his suspicions already but this was Castiel's story.

"God doesn't care and he told Joshua as much," Castiel whispered, still heartbroken about his Father's abandonment. "I lost faith," he finished even more brokenly.

Harry was sure that this was the first time the recently fallen angel was openly sharing his thoughts and feelings about the matter with somebody, something he could understand. As much as Cass liked Dean Winchester, the human would never be able to really empathize merely because it was a God-related matter. Not even he, poor, beaten up and abandoned Harry, held such an open dislike for the Christian God as Dean Winchester held.

"But you didn't give up, Cass. You're all beaten up but you're still fighting with all you have. That takes courage."

There was a moment of silence, but then Castiel managed to remind Harry of who he was, who he used to be: "You, Harry Potter, are an idiot, a stubborn idiot to boot. Everyone has a moment when they gave up," he said, remembering Dean. "All you have to do is to get on your feet once more and keep fighting."

To say that Harry was surprised would be a gross understatement. He was dumbfounded by the glaring change his surrogate brother had gone through. One year ago Castiel wouldn't have dreamt of saying words like those ones, the ability would've been lost on him. But now the angel -or ex-angel as the case may be- was berating him on being a stupid and stubborn idiot. Not that he wasn't, 'cause he was one, a big one.

Harry chucked softly. Castiel was right, he was always right when Harry was concerned. It was time for Harry James Potter to buck up and confront the world once more. It was an exciting prospect, now he only needed to dust his infamous Gryffindor courage. Courage. That word had, once upon a time, defined him; long before he decided to hide away like a coward. Well, right now Harry knew that he had a choice to make, he was in front of a forked path, the only difference with every other time before this one was the simplicity of his choice. He had never and would never abandon those precious to him. Castiel, no matter if he was an angel, human or a house-elf, he was family to Harry. And family was more sacred than all the Gods in existence to him.

"Well then, if that's the case, then this is what we're going to do..."

He then proceeded to develop a plan of action alongside Cass.

When the call was finally disconnected Castiel sank into the uncomfortable hospital bed feeling more relieved and hopeful than he had felt in what seemed like forever. Truthfully, had he been a little better and not hurting as much, he would've slapped himself silly for not calling Harry the instant he had been revived. But he, once again, had taken an order a bit more literal that he should have. He had thought about calling a couple of times before now but he had never been exactly on 'Death's Door', so he didn't. The only reason he had finally gone through the call this time was the fact he had been so out of sorts that instead of using the speed dial to call Dean he had checked his, admittedly short, list of contacts. There was also the fact that he had been feeling so awful after his stunt with the sigil that he had been in dire need of some comfort, even if not even himself had realized it. In the state he had been that probably was the main reason he dialled that number, after all Harry was the only being that had ever offered him things like comfort before. Never mind that he hadn't needed such a thing as an angel.

The ex-angel let a smile curl his lips. The presence of a being as powerful as Harry changed things, a lot. That, plus the fact that Gabriel was alive, if unwell for now, made the future much brighter than what it had been just an hour ago. Merely an hour ago he had been almost ready to curl up in a tight ball of misery and let the world sort itself out.

That was not going to happen now. If the world was going to blow up then they were going to be there, fighting tooth and nail against Heaven and Hell in order to stop it.

The thought made his little but happy smile widen and his eyes shine with an inner light that had been all but stamped out of existence a long time ago, long before his fall.

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><p><em><span>Uploaded:<span>26/12/2011_

_Edited: 4/01/2012_


	7. The Sword

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Dean, Sam, Castiel, Zachariah, Michael and God._ _  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_AU-ness, OoC-ness (?)_**  
>Summary: <strong>_ Lucifer fell, Michael disappeared and now Harry is being bothered by memories that are not his own._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I own nothing but the plot, to an extent.  
><em>**Words:**_ 2878._

**AN:**_ There is a discrepancy in the Harry Potter timeline. Harry received the sword when Fawkes arrived, I __**know**__ this. I realized after I wrote it, but I like how it turned out so I'm not changing it. _

_Thanks to _xDarklightx, Mickey _and_ wolfawaken _for the reviews! As always I really appreciate them._

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><p><strong>7. The Sword.<strong>

"_We did lose the Michael's sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now you just hand-delivered it to us._

"_You are Michael's sword"_

"_I am a vessel?"_

"_You're THE Vessel. Michael's vessel."_

_xXx_

"_Is that true? Is all that shit true? Answer me damnit!"_

"_It is. You are Michael's true vessel."_

"_What are you not telling me?" questioned Dean after a long and tense silence. _

_More silence followed, but, for once, Dean waited almost patiently for the answer to come. On the sidelines Sam waited too, aware that the wrong word would make Cass disappear and who knows when the angel would come back then. Castiel wasn't looking at them, wasn't looking at anything really, his ancient eyes were lost in contemplation. About what they could only guess._

"_You are Michael's vessel, his sword, his weapon," he repeated, still not looking at them. "The problem..." he paused and turned, pinning them with those unfathomable eyes, "the problem is that nobody has seen Michael since The Fall."_

"_H-he fell?" Disbelief._

_Castiel eyes were full of uncertainty and pain when he answered in a pained voice. "We don't know."_

_And then he was gone._

_xXx_

"_Father? I can't possibly... You __want__ me to go there? A-alright then..."_

_The Garden was more than what words could describe, just... more, much more. It was marvellous, it was beautiful, it was luscious and full of life. It was Paradise, plain and simple. But somehow nothing was more interesting at that moment than the aged well in the middle of a crowded flower bed. That well was an extension of His awareness, of His self. It showed everything past, present and future, things that not even the most powerful of His children were privy to. The water inside was the clearest and purest substance to ever exist, and the most powerful. One drop could probably clean the entirety of the Earth or elevate a mortal into a God. Used wrongly it could probably blew an entire galaxy into nothingness._

_To even see the well was the highest honour as well as a first in the history of Heaven. Michael knew it. And he wanted nothing else but to get away from the too powerful and too pure substance. Even them, created from their Father's light, were dirty in comparison to Him. That was something that never ceased to humble and amaze Michael._

"_I have to look? But...! But it is... I can't Father! No, it's not that! It's just... I understand, I am sorry Father, I will do it."_

_The water moved, danced and jumped with a life of its own before settling again, only this time the stillness was unnatural and completely deliberate. It cleared and finally Michael saw. _

_It was a human woman. With her fiery red hair and gem-like green eyes, flawless skin and bright smile she was beautiful, even by angelic standards. Her husband was handsome too, with dark-brown hair and hazel eyes that held a mischievous edge to them, his features were angular and regal, barely dampened by the glasses he had to wear. Between them was a baby, too perfect and too unearthly to be human even when it was obvious that he was. The baby had black hair, blacker than the Garden's earth, and green eyes just as striking as the woman's. His pearly white skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the vision. And then the baby did something unexpected, he looked up and right into Michael's own eyes. They looked at each other, green against green, until Michael broke the connection, shaken beyond anything he had felt before, with the exception of Lucifer's still too recent betrayal of course._

"_Am I being punished Father? Did I do wrong? Did I..." _

_For the first time Michael's strong voice faded in uncertainty. He didn't know what to feel, let alone what to say. He was the oldest, the wisest, the most powerful... but right then he felt small, insignificant even. He had only felt like this after he was created and before he had brothers to protect, teach and guide._

"_A lesson? For me? No? For all of us? I see..."_

_And he did. He understood now and he would do as his Father wished even if he was afraid, deadly afraid._

"_What will I learn?" He was curious but he received no answer. It would be one of those hard-earned lessons._

"_When am I leaving then Father?"_

"_Now?" _

"_Yes, sir!"_

_xXx_

'_I'm so screwed,'_ thought Harry in dismay.

His breath was laboured and he was sweating buckets after only five minutes of frantically dodging his foe, a thousand-years-old basilisk, while being practically blind thanks to the serpent lethal glare. His thoughts, pessimistic as they were, were no more than the truth, the pure and uncensored truth. How could he, a malnourished twelve years old kid, armed with nothing but a wand he could barely use and a sword he had no idea how to grip, much less wield effectively; how could he win when pitied against a sixty foot long, legendary and most certainly deadly creature with more tricks under its scales than he could hope to guess? The answer would be obvious even to Crabbe and Goyle: he couldn't.

That didn't mean that he would stop trying though. He was not one to give up, else he wouldn't have survived his childhood at the Dursley household.

The boy managed to catch a breath when Fawkes unexpectedly flashed into the Chamber in a burst of red and golden fire. The accompanying thrill of the phoenix song made Harry smile even in the dire circumstances he was trapped into, it made him feel as if the dreary Chamber was brighter somehow, as if his impossible task was not as impossible anymore. He knew it was merely a side effect of the beautiful sound and nothing else but nothing, not even his rationale, could burst the bubble of hope that had lodged itself in his chest, especially after noticing that Fawkes had blinded the basilisk, taking away one of its more deadly weapons: its eyes.

Well, that lifted his chances from zero to, what? One? One point five? Harry scoffed to himself self-deprecatingly, gripped the sword of Gryffindor tightly in his too small hands and prepared himself to run once more. He may be a Gryffindor but Harry was no idiot, he obviously couldn't win a straight fight against a foe like a basilisk, dumb luck just wouldn't cut it this time. That meant that he needed to be creative, he would need to transform his weaknesses into strength. But what were his weaknesses and where did his strengths, few as they were, laid? Well, he was small and physically weak, he didn't have much stamina either, which limited his time frame of action; he was fast and nimble, abilities that had already served him well while dodging his enemy a while ago. He had a sword but he didn't know how to use it... or did he?

Flashes of bloody battles, wings, the wind and beautiful but lethal dances with wicked swords winked in and out of existence in front of his eyes. He blinked and the Chamber came back onto focus. Confused and more than a little freaked out, Harry stored those thoughts in a corner of his mind. No matter what they were, they would get him killed if he got distracted by them.

Back to the present he concluded that his lack of significant power and his small stature were his worst weaknesses, the ones that were the most likely to get him killed. Well, he couldn't get powerful in the blink of an eye but if he was crafty about it, he could probably use his size to his favour. Most battles weren't about power anyway, but about waiting for or creating an opening in your enemy defences that could be exploited. And how did he know that anyway? He shook his head to dislodge that thought and took off in the direction where he came from.

Harry immediately noticed that the basilisk was hot on his heels, able to follow him by his scent alone. In the back of his mind he could hear Tom Riddle's gloating but he didn't deign the spectre with half a thought, his survival was more important than whatever nonsense the other was spewing. Harry made a point of zigzagging in between statues and whatever smallish space he could find while on his way to the sewers that served as an entrance. As he had seen when he came, the sewers were huge, but that was only the main system. From the main tunnel many smaller ones branched off, only to repeat the process again and again until you had a veritable maze made of pipes of all sizes, a maze where he would be able to lose the giant snake.

For some reason Harry had paid attention to the pipes on his way in, following some kind of instinct he had even explored a little bit. _Mapping the terrain_, a thought supplied much to his growing confusion. Since when did he knew about those things? No matter. The point was that he now had an idea of where to go, a perfect place to lay an ambush. But first he needed to lose his scent and his pursuer.

He continued running in circles, aware of his relentless enemy and of the fact that he was tiring fast and wouldn't be able to maintain this rhythm for much longer. Suddenly, he took a sharp corner to the left and fell though one of the smallest pipes, it connected to another one that was slightly bigger but still small enough that the basilisk would be unable to enter, thus giving the boy a few seconds to breathe. It had the added plus that it smelt terrible thanks to some disgusting and unnamed slime he preferred not to think too deeply about. It was thanks to the smell that he noticed this place the first time and now it was that minute acknowledgment that would save his life. There was no way that the blind basilisk would be able to follow his scent anymore as he didn't smell any different than the rest of the sewer.

He was so going to hog the bathroom for an entire day after all of this drama ended, taking turns and playing nice could be damned for all he cared!

After a minute he stood up on shaky limbs. He would've liked nothing more than resting for a week but time was of the essence and all that. He vaguely wondered from where all this cynicism and wit came from but, much like with other unexplainable matters, he shoved the thought away for latter perusal. Carefully and silently Harry crawled his way towards the spot he had marked earlier, ears strained in an attempt to pinpoint his enemy location. He stopped in front of a huge pipe that connected to his from underneath and continued upwards at an angle. If this worked as planned then the basilisk would came to this direction when he made noise but it would be unable to see or smell him so it would continue, if everything worked then the underbelly of the snake would be wide open for him to strike with the sword of Gryffindor.

He hoped and prayed for his plan to work as it was his only chance to succeed, not only in getting alive out of the Chamber but also in saving Ron's little sister. He couldn't fail. He took a deep breath and threw a stone down the pipe. He winced at the loud noises it made but otherwise kept himself still while he waited.

After what seemed like an eternity he heard the distinct sound of something moving against a flat surface, in this case a giant snake against the curved surface of the pipes. It came from under him. Moving excruciatingly slow Harry grabbed a pebble, aimed carefully and threw it upwards, towards a different pipe a little way over the one he was in. Then he watched, fascinated, as the big-ass snake stopped all movement for a second, before retreating until its humongous head was in line with the pipe Harry was facing. Harry gulped, his throat dry all of sudden and his heart hammering so loudly in his ears that he was afraid the basilisk would be able to hear it. He gripped the hilt of the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white but, somehow, the cool and hard metal managed to sooth his fear, as if only by having a sword with him everything was made right in the world; a strange sort of calm washed over him, clearing his mind, and allowing him to concentrate on the perfect timing he needed. It wouldn't do to strike the tail of the basilisk after all.

Finally, his patience paid off. With quick reflexes honed by Quidditch, and a steady hand and aim that he wasn't aware that he had, he buried the blade of the sword to the hilt in the exact place where the heart was, the momentum the basilisk had gained only aided him, making the blow all the more deadly. The giant snake trashed and hissed, almost dislodging him from his place and forcing him to release the sword least he fell to his death. Harry watched the last moments of life of the magnificent creature with wide and pitying eyes but he didn't regret his actions. It was thanks to those actions that he was alive and well enough to go back to the Chamber to recue Ginny from Voldemort's memory.

Very carefully Harry climbed down using the dead basilisk as a makeshift stairwell. Grunting with the effort he managed to free Gryffindor's sword, he grimaced at the blood covered blade but didn't react otherwise. The rest of the descent was even more difficult and almost impossible, it was only Harry small stature and nimbleness that allowed him to weave his way through the coils of the carcass. As if that wasn't difficult enough, he also had to avoid all the strange substances leaking from the snake. Harry didn't know what basilisk venom looked like but he knew that even skin contact with it was lethal and he hadn't survived until now just to die from a moment of carelessness.

Harry managed to land safely but the sword wasn't as fortunate. It had slipped from the boy's dirty hands and somehow it landed exactly in the growing puddle where all those rather disgusting substances were pooling. Harry wanted to bash his head against the hard surface of the pipe. With a weary sigh, the preteen levitated the sword and watched, astonished, the way the deadly weapon absorbed the mysterious liquids that coated it, a second later it pulsated with a dark green and golden light before simply returning to normal.

Somehow Harry just knew that the sword of Gryffindor was more dangerous than ever.

xXx

Finding the Chamber again, destroying the blasted diary and saving Ginny had been kid's play compared to surviving the basilisk attacks. None of that really bothered Harry too much. He did it because that's what he came all the way to the Chamber for and that was it. It wasn't like Riddle was even alive, like Professor Quirrell had been when Harry's touch had burned him into nothingness. So no, 'killing' the memory didn't bother him.

What was bothering him then?

As Harry contemplated the gleaming sword he had, oh so conveniently, 'forgotten' inside the Chamber he found his answer, or part of it. Because, for a moment down there, Harry had known how to correctly wield a sword, the best way to grip it and how to angle the trust in order to obtain the best results. He had _known_. But he was pretty sure he would've remembered the fact that he apparently had knowledge on swordsmanship. And considering the fact that he had never even _seen_ a sword before the whole Chamber thing it was utterly impossible.

So why? And how? How did he know all that? How did he know the best way to take on a bigger and more powerful enemy? How could he possibly have known where the heart of the basilisk had been located? He had never seen a dissected snake before!

And why, why did he suddenly want to knee on the floor and send a prayer of thanks? Not that it was a terrible effort, but he had never given two bits about God, so why now? Why did his chest constrict every time he so much as caught a glance at the sky? And why, for Merlin's sake, was the name Michael so damn familiar.

Harry groaned and buried his head fell on the fluffy pillow, hoping that his headache would recede.

Nothing made any sense anymore!

xXx

Somewhere, in an unidentified location, God chuckled in amusement.

"Soon, my son, the lesson will be learned and understanding will come to you," He said to nobody in particular.

Still, in his bed, Harry Potter relaxed and fell into a deeper and relaxing sleep.

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><p><em><span>Uploaded:<span> 04/12/2012 _


	8. One of Us

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Castiel, Dean and Bobby.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_A small dosis of Angst, Blasphemy._**  
>Summary: <strong> _What if God was one of us..._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own the song "One of Us", nor do I own Supernatural. The Plot, however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_4050._

**AN:** _This fic was inspired in the song "One of Us", Glee version, from season 2, episode 3. It's a beautiful song and you should listen to it. For those who want it I'll put the link at the bottom.  
>I realize that God is a touchy subject at best for many people. I'm sorry if this one-shot offends somebody, that wasn't my intention at all. I'm not, however, sorry for what I wrote. After a ridiculous amount of time going through this I'm finally happy with the result. <em>

__It has been so long that, not amazingly, I don't remember if I answered to the reviews or not. I usually do, but I can't remember, which is embarrasing. Sooo, thanks Mickey, wolfawaken, Novo, Science Queen, xDarklightx, Firehedgehog, Janelly Slytherin and Obi. Also, Obi, I'm afraid I'm not a timetraveler, a pity really.__

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><p><strong>8. One of us.<strong>

_If God had a name, what would it be  
>And would you call it to his face<br>If you were faced with him in all his glory  
>What would you ask if you had just one question<em>

The apocalypse was over, the sun was shining high in the sky, bathing the not-quite-battlefield with alien warmth, and the sky was a stunning shade of blue, the same shade of Castiel's -_Jimmy's, whispered a traitorous voice_- eyes. That was where the beauty ended. The grass, yellowy and overgrown in uneven patches, was burned in some places while other parts were soaked in blood, angel blood. _Castiel's blood_, punctuated the voice. Nearby was Bobby Singer's body, sprawled haphazardly in an undignified heap, neck twisted in an unnatural angle, glazed eyes defiant even in death. That old dog was probably cursing the Devil in Heaven and generally being a pain in the ass for the douches up there. Maybe. Dean could hope anyway.

The last corpse was by far the worse to the dying hunter. It was small in stature even though the difference in age between both of them was barely a year, with Dean being the oldest. His midnight-black hair was matted with his blood and plastered to his face in an uncomplimentary way. His smooth and porcelain-like skin was stained in the same way and largely unmarred with the exception of a large gash on his forehead that had nearly scalped the man. His emerald eyes were glazed, much like Bobby's, but even in death they retained an otherworldly look to them. Almost as if the power behind them was still there. But that was impossible, wistful thinking on Dean's part, especially with a fist-shaped hole where his heart used to be.

His name was Harry James Potter, once again saviour of an ungrateful and ignorant world and a distant cousin of the Winchester brothers.

The dead trees all around them shuffled slightly in a chilly breeze, somehow managing to add to the desolate feeling of the entire situation.

Dean almost cried at the scene, would've cried, had he remembered how. Whether it was the agonizing pain he was in or an effect of his broken psyche the fact remained, and so no tears were shed for his fallen comrades. His family.

He didn't let himself think of Sam. His stupid, self-sacrificing, little brother, who at the moment was more than likely being tormented by those two poor excuses of holy beings in the deepest, crueller pit of Hell. Let's not forget that little detail.

Dean's vision suddenly blurred. He sluggishly blinked his only functional eye, not quite sure of the reason for trying to stay awake. Everybody he gave a damn about was dead and he was damn sure he was on his merry way towards the same end. It didn't take a genius of Sam's calibre to figure that out. He was bleeding everywhere after all, inside and outside. And no, he wasn't talking in that metaphorical and girly way Sammy was so fond of.

While fading in and out of consciousness, Dean didn't notice the small body of his cousin disappear quietly, like a mirage in a desert.

_What if God was one of us  
>Just a slob like one of us<br>Just a stranger on the bus  
>Trying to make his way home<em>

One moment Harry Potter laid there, a broken and cooling corpse, and then he wasn't. He just faded out of existence and less than a second later he reappeared in the same fashion, only this time he was neither hurt nor a corpse. There wasn't even a spot of dirt in the rather plain clothes he favoured.

He blinked and looked around slowly, almost groggily one would say if not for the sharpness denoted in his gem-like eyes, eyes that took in the littlest details. It was those brilliant, crystal clear and entirely too aware eyes that would give him away if somebody knew what to look for. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there was nobody around for miles to see him.

With deliberate steps, Harry vanished the distance between himself and Dean. He crouched in front of the man and silently took note of all the little details he had missed while dead. It was obvious by the frown on his face that Harry didn't like what he saw. The older hunter was unconscious, not really surprising considering the impressive array of injuries he had obtained, the problem was that he was slipping, fading away much too fast for that kind of injury.

That led him to only one conclusion. Dean Winchester had finally reached the end of his rope and had given up. Harry rubbed his forehead in annoyance. It was understandable, really, but he wasn't going to let a member of his family, one of his precious children, give up the fight. Not like this, never like this. Dean still had much to live for... Correction, he would've much to live for, once he resurrected some more people and finally put this entire mess to rest.

A finger to make skin on skin contact, facilitating the flow of a power he hadn't used in almost three decades, a flash of pure white light and Dean was in pristine condition. At least on the outside. Psychological trauma was another matter entirely, one he was hesitant to meddle with because of how easy it was to break or completely annihilate a mind, by accident even.

Dean's own green eyes opened, confused at first, relieved afterwards, disbelieving and wary at last.

_If God had a face what would it look like  
>And would you want to see<br>If seeing meant that you would have to believe  
>In things like heaven and in jesus and the saints and all the prophets<em>

"Who... no, w_hat_ are you?"

The being with Harry's face, voice, countenance and just about everything that made his cousin, smiled. It was a small, benign smile, one that churned and twisted Dean's insides because it was completely Harry but, at the same time, it _wasn't_. There was something different, something _more_, and suddenly Dean wasn't sure that he wanted to know just what creature had managed to take Harry's place so thoroughly.

"I'm me Dean. I've always been me, but now I'm complete," was 'Harry's' answer, which, honestly, didn't make any kind of sense to the hunter. "Now stay there for a while and rest."

It wasn't an order, not really, but Dean almost snapped at attention. Dean licked his lips nervously. Something wasn't right here, not right at all and he was powerless to stop it. He was too tired, emotionally stretched to snapping point and feeling like he was barely hanging by the frazzled threads of his tortured sanity. The sight of his not-cousin, alive and well, didn't help at all.

He watched as the thing moved towards Bobby's body, helpless and complete unable to either move or voice a complaint. He didn't miss a thing, though. From the graceful and almost fluid movements, to the subtle waves of barely restrained power that oozed from the petite body of his cousin. He took what little comfort he could from the fact that the being was purposely restraining the flow of energy that could so easily crush him like he was nothing more than a speck of dust. Could that mean that his cousin was somewhere in there and was protecting him? It was a nice, if completely ridiculous, thought.

Another flash of light and Bobby was sitting there, very much alive and looking as if he had somehow entered the twilight zone. Which Dean guessed wasn't too far from their current reality. He saw Harry's lips move but couldn't hear a thing as the wind carried his voice away from him. He saw Bobby's confused and wary expression. He saw the way Bobby's body subtly tensed as he realized that the Harry in front of him wasn't their Harry but some_thing_ else, something insanely dangerous and, with their rotten luck, unkillable. He saw the same helplessness he felt reflected in the jaded eyes of his surrogate father, because that was what the older hunter had became at some point. He saw the thing smile and pat Bobby in the head as if the other was merely a child in need of comfort.

Dean couldn't comprehend that understanding but sad -_so damn sad_- smile on Harry's face. Monsters just didn't smile like that! It was way out of character. They weren't supposed to take his cousin skin for their own purpose either.

He strangled the hope that maybe, _maybe_, this was Harry, as impossible as that was.

_What if God was one of us  
>Just a slob like one of us<br>Just a stranger on the bus  
>Trying to make his way home<br>He's trying to make his way home  
>Back up to heaven all alone<br>Nobody calling on the phone  
>Except for the pope maybe in Rome<em>

Castiel was confused. Not that _that_ was terribly uncommon, it was in fact the only feeling that had loyally accompanied him all the way from the beginning to the end. It was an established fact that practically everything from the human world confused him; from the many contraptions they had developed over the course of two thousand years, to their weird rituals and the simplest of feelings. Being killed by his own family -_twice, mind you_- was oddly normal in comparison to the picture in front of his eyes.

Dean was sitting on the dead and overgrown grass, back resting on the side of his beloved car and a myriad of feelings dancing in his tired eyes that belied the lack of expression in his face. Physically he seemed okay, which was a mystery to Castiel. Shouldn't he be at least a little battered? Or did Sam manage to wrench control from Lucifer before anything dreadful happened? More dreadful that his rather painful dead. It seemed unbelievable. Almost as unbelievable as the total complacence that seemed to have overtaken the, as of now, last Winchester.

Next was Bobby, who was behaving exactly like Dean, except that his gaze was rapidly shifting from wary to angry to stormy to sad, confused, slightly hopeful and so on. That intense gaze was focused on the third living person in the cemetery. Castiel turned to look and his breath caught in his throat so fast that he chocked and almost swallowed his vessel's tongue.

It was Harry Potter but not. Not anymore. Castiel had never seen Him in person, had never even talked to Him, but there was no mistaking it. No angel worth their wings would fail to realize who Harry Potter really was, at least not now, not when His power was free from bounds of any kind. The word escaped his chapped lips before he could reconnect his brain. Awe, love, pain, bitterness and the littlest bit of accusation filled those six letters with so much weight that he thought he may drown under it. Maybe he was still dead after all, for this could not be anything but a dream.

"Father..."

_If God had a face what would it look like  
>And would you want to see<br>If seeing meant that you would have to believe  
>In things like heaven and in jesus and the saints and all the prophets<br>_

And Harry smiled. Seeing his fledging, the youngest of all his angels, was a blessing, so to speak.

Castiel was a real character, truly different from his brothers and sisters since before his creation. Vivacious and inquisitive, that was the way he was always supposed to be, the way he hadn't been for the longest time.

Seeing the weariness, the wariness, the sadness and the hurt that he himself had helped to put in those glowing eyes, Harry couldn't help but think that nothing was as it was supposed to be lately.

"What the Hell dude? Father? You gotta be shittin' me! How in the world is my cousin a friggin' god, and not just any god, but _The_ God! That's... that's... It can't be, damnit!"

And so Dean Winchester was back, almost. It was about time really, even if it did cut him off when he was about to reassure his little angel. He huffed and sent a glare towards the youngest hunter present. There was no real heat behind the glare but Dean couldn't help the shiver of fear that run through his spine. Harry's gaze softened a fraction of a second later and something akin to regret filled those glowing pools of ageless power.

He may have never been human at His core, but He had lived a complete, if short, life as a human in a human body with very human feelings. Although the body He had now wasn't quite human anymore as a mortal body couldn't hope to contain even a quarter of His power. It truly wasn't much, because, at the end of the day, God wasn't human and nothing He did could change that. What He had done was walk the proverbial mile in their shoes. Harry's life, barely a blink in the order of things, had bore unexpected but not unwelcomed results. It had given him understanding on what His second sons went through every day and a family. Somewhere along the line Harry had gained a family and He found that He didn't want to lose it just yet. That meant an explanation.

The need for said explanation was solidified when Dean said one word, just one word that covered everything, stripped Him of every pretence, pierced all of His excuses.

_If God had a name, what would it be  
>And would you call it to his face<br>If you were faced with him in all his glory  
>What would you ask if you had just one question<br>_

"Why?"

Dean found he could say no more, add nothing else. His body was brand new _-again-_ but his voice, his brain, failed him. He was just too tired of everything. Thirty years old and he felt as if he had lived a century, which wasn't too far off the line when you counted those forty years in Hell.

Harry sighed and slumped in a way that was eerily human and that served to remind the two humans as well as the angel that this Divinity had spent years, decades even, walking around in a human skin.

He started to explain:

"When I retreated, before Lucifer was defeated and exiled into the prison I had put together, I was hurt in a way that was entirely novel and not in a good way. I should've explained or said something, I realized that now, but I was tired... and disappointed. In my pain I couldn't see that my sons and daughters were just as hurt as me if not more. I failed to see the most important thing, that despite their age they were still children and they were hurting. I overlooked the fact that the blind obedience imbedded in their very being kept them rooted to their spots under my shadow, unable to evolve and grow into what they were meant to be." He snorted self-deprecantly. "Some father I am."

Castiel seemed looked like he wanted to protest but one look from his Father shut him up faster that Dean had ever seen. It wasn't even a Look, just a plead with His eyes not to speak. Dean started to get the feeling of what kind of obedience God was talking about, the kind that he himself had showed, once upon a time.

"I didn't see, not for a long time." He paused for a bit, lost in thought. "By the time I realized my mistake I knew that I had screwed up," Dean choked and Castiel's eyes were wide like saucers, "and that change was needed. But change, to be effective, can't be forced. Otherwise it would have been an exercise in futility as well as fatal, which wasn't what I was looking for at all."

Harry ignored what sounded suspiciously like 'no shit, Sherlock' from Dean. Dean would be Dean and that was that.

"Yeah, the problem was that I didn't know where to start steering them in the right direction." He confessed with a slight grimace. "In the end it became apparent that, for change to occur, my absence was needed, otherwise they would keep obeying me the same way they had done for millennia."

Dean nodded to show that he understood, sort of. "So how would you disappear? They could feel you, could they not?"

"They could," Harry acquiesced. "There was one way, however."

"You became human," blurted out Castiel before blushing, an honest to God blush. Dean wished he had a camera.

Harry inclined his head. "Almost," He said. "I didn't become anything, I was born like all humans are born."

To the hunters there was no big difference, as demonstrated by their unchanging expressions, but the angel amongst them seemed to disagree, if the gasp and the sudden understanding in those blue eyes were anything to go by. Dean looked at Cass questioningly.

"He was human Dean," reiterated the angel, eyes not leaving his Father, "wholly human. Memoryless, powerless, mortal, fragile, human."

"Spot-on. I was just Harry until I died the first time, at twelve years of age. It wasn't dead long and by the time I returned to my body I couldn't remember anything, not even the fact that I had died. Even so, my human self was changed, however little. I became more intuitive, stronger and a bit more knowledgeable, nothing truly drastic. Then I sacrificed myself at seventeen for the sake of my friends and makeshift family." Harry ignored Dean's look of chagrin. The hunter had never liked that part of the story, the hypocrite. "That time I choose to come back and I did. Once more I had no memories of my true being but I had taken what little power my body could manage as well as a bloody good intuition."

"You mean border-line psychic," scoffed Bobby after an eternity of silence. Harry just smiled at the little sign of trust and acceptance.

Silence ensured and in the middle of the abandoned cemetery it was more than a little unsettling.

"So," started Dean, sick of the silence after minutes of playing ping-pong with their eyes, "that's it? You got what you wanted, right? What happens now?"

_What if god was one of us  
>Just a slob like one of us<br>Just a stranger on the bus  
>Trying to make his way home<br>Just trying to make his way home  
>Like a holy rolling stone<br>Back up to heaven all alone  
>Just trying to make his way home<br>Nobody calling on the phone  
>Except for the pope maybe in rome<em>

Dean looked uncharacteristically subdued but his words, brash and blunt as they were, held no trace of the anger and betrayal that had been present for the duration of the conversation. It was a relief to Harry to notice this. No matter who or what he was, to Harry Potter family was everything. It had been important before -He hadn't forced His essence into the womb of a woman just for shits and giggles, after all- but now it was everything.

"I wouldn't say that I got what I wanted, I never wanted all this death and suffering Dean," said man looked away, guiltily. "But the first step was taken by Castiel here." Cue big, round eyes full of incredulous surprise. "So yes, in a way I got what I wanted. As for what happens now... " He put his hand in his pockets and fixed a stern look in Dean's direction. "Well, it seems to me like I have two stubborn and stupid cousins to rescue from the Hot spot, as well as a bunch of troublemaking sons to straighten up once and for all." Here he smiled in a way that sent shivers down to everyone's backs. The three of them had a moment of shared pity for the poor sods that were going to be at the end of Harry's odd branch of discipline. It had been bad before, they didn't want to imagine how it would be now. Dean, however, almost immediately forgot about everything but the part that concerned Sammy. And Adam. Somehow he would've to make it up to the kid, right after kicking his ass for being a gullible moron of course.

"And afterwards?" This time it was Castiel who posed the question, his voice embarrassingly small and full of fragile and battered hope. It was so out of character coming from the strong and stoic angel that both humans almost got whiplash in their haste to look at their brother-in-arms. Despite the intensity of the gazes Castiel didn't notice, he was too busy inspecting his shiny shoes. They were nice, he thought; well, Dean hated them but they were comfortable and maybe he should...

"Castiel, your thoughts are tying themselves into knots," warned He lightly. Startled, the angel looked up and was caught by the power behind his Father's eyes. It had been a very long time since Castiel had felt like a child but that was what he was in that moment, entrapped in that ageless gaze.

Harry's body was short, the shortest out of all of them. But that somehow didn't stop Him from extending a hand and ruffling His youngest son hair in the same way He had done it for little Cass' older brothers, a long, long time ago. A contented smile grazed His lips; in spite of the headaches they had caused him, were causing him and would undoubtedly cause him in the near future, he had missed his children.

"Afterwards I suppose we will be busy cleaning up the mess the children left while daddy was away." Dean chucked unabashedly in the background and Bobby snorted and coughed, not quite covering his own laugher. He mock-glared at them before focusing on His angel again and who apparently was trying very hard to have his eyes swallow the rest of his face. He blinked. That should've been physically impossible. Aaanyway... "And as the only available, alive or otherwise reliable Archangel around you'll have your hands full, little Cass."

"Archangel?" Questioned Dean with a raised eyebrow, while closely inspecting the feathered wonder. He didn't look or felt any different, but then again, he wouldn't know.

Castiel shrugged a bit stiffly, his baby blue eyes flickering over to Dean before returning to Harry as if afraid the other would vanish into thin air. Sadly, it wasn't impossible. "It is a new development."

God snorted. "It's a reward. Now come 'ere," He exclaimed far too happily and slung one arm around Dean, who yelped in surprise at the out-of-nowhere action, and the other one around Cass, who chocked in renewed surprise at the contact, "we have some idiots to bust out of prison, punishment to dole out and pranks to plan..." Hey! Gabriel had to come from somewhere you know!

"Whatever you say Shorty," teased Dean, still a bit leery but far more receptive than an hour ago.

"Shut it, Goldilocks," Harry retorted without missing a beat.

"That was one time!" groaned Dean. "Drop it, will ya?"

"No can do, Dean-o."

The banter continued between the two. At some point they had shuffled Cass so the angel was sandwiched between them, looking as bewildered as always, but feeling included in a way even though he wasn't actively participating in the 'discussion'.

They certainly made a strange picture: a new Archangel, a human and God, bickering in the way that only close friends and family could do. And let's not forget Bobby, the always reliable Bobby, who brought the rear of their little procession, shaking his head back and forth in exasperation and fondness, a smile of amusement softening his hardened features into something almost amiable.

"Idjits, all of them," muttered Bobby with the same fondness that was reflected in his dark eyes, totally aware that they could hear him and not caring one wit. The truth was the truth.

_And yeah yeah God is great yeah yeah God is good  
>yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah<em>

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><p><strong>Glee Version: <strong>_http : / www . youtube . com / watch?v=UyF6jEMc8Yg _

**Joan Osborne Version:**_ _http : / www . youtube . com / watch?v=USR3bX_PtU4_  
><em>


	9. To Lend a Hand

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Castiel, Gabriel.  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_None, I think._**  
>Summary: <strong> _The best laid plans always go awry. Death didn't rise, Castiel didn't end up aboard a ship and someone thought dead may not be quite so dead in the end... Lucifer never saw that one coming._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_As much as I would love it, I don't own Supernatural or Castiel. The Plot, however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_5468._

**AN:**_ This isn't what I said I'd try to write (a follow up of "One of Us"), but I couldn't help myself. This damned thing just appeared and started nagging at me and picking at my brain 'till I **had** to write it. My muse is evil and laughing at me._

_For those who don't understand the Lord of the Rings reference, an explanation will be at the bottom of the chapter._

_Oh! And this time I replied to everyone's reviews, very much appreciated by the way! My thanks to Mickey, who doesn't have an account, I think.  
><em>

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><p><strong>9. To Lend a hand... or a Ring.<strong>

After all the preparation this was the result. After all his careful planning: procuring the right town and sacrificing the old, the women and the children, even their pets; after having to deal with those disgusting and pathetic demons, delivering orders and making sure that the brain-dead idiots understood their roles. After facing another disappointment in the form of a black-haired vessel with defying blue eyes, meddlesome Winchester and a hole in his head, which _hurt_, damn it, even if it didn't kill him. After weakening his temporary vessel even more by using that ritual, the one to raise Death; after having his victory mere inches from him where he could almost _taste it_…

Nothingness. Failure.

After all his work and that was what he got: Failure! All his efforts: wasted! Dispersed like feeble strands of smoke in the face of an avenging hurricane.

The Winchesters were more than a little lucky about the fact that their little angel flashed them out of town and far away immediately. Had they stayed, for whatever reason, and they wouldn't have been more than a memory scattered to the four winds. There wouldn't have been enough left of the brothers to revive them.

Hours later, news of a giant crater where Carthage used to stand reached every corner of the world. The United States were thrown in an even deeper state of panic. Worry seeped towards the rest of the world where strange things had started happening. Only a few suspected the true. Only three humans and one falling angel knew what had really transpired there. But not even them knew what had ticked off the Devil so much that he ended up blowing the city, it was so violent that when everything was said and done there wasn't even a rock standing.

.

.

The abandoned warehouse was just like any other warehouse in the country, maybe the world, with the added appeal of being abandoned. Graffiti marked the thin metal sheets that made up the walls and the slightly rusted door. A metallic and broken lamp hung over the closed entrance, adding to the feeling of abandonment.

The afternoon air and light of California was welcoming to the three men that had suddenly appeared in the path that reached the warehouse. The movement of their bodies denoted a seriousness and readiness not seen in normal people, the set in their features, hardened by pain and experience spoke of the same thing. These men were warriors and they were on a mission. They were Sam and Dean Winchester plus Castiel, the latter who wasn't even human. He was an angel and, in spite of the lack of emotions on his vessel's face, he was worrying and doing his best to be ready for the pain that was painted in his near future.

The three men had a brief discussion over what Castiel was going to do but the angel was stone-faced and adamant so, in the end, Dean relented and watched with regretful eyes the slim form of his friend disappear through the door, hoping against hope for Castiel's survival. In his mind and heart, though, he knew it was useless and that the possibility that this was the last time he was going to see the other was at its highest. He hated the feeling.

Minutes passed, suddenly the sound of clashing swords could be heard, before the cracks in the door and windows light up for a couple of seconds. Agonizing silence followed. The sound of footsteps couldn't be heard from outside but the shouts could, however muffled. Then more light, this time more intense, and the brothers knew that Castiel had succeeded. At what price they didn't want to know.

Hours later, when they had escaped the green room and an unwanted angel-possession, empty handed and tired, they drew as much relief as they could by thinking that, even though Castiel hadn't contacted them yet, the angel's body hadn't been anywhere in the warehouse. The relief was minimum and short-lived because, if he wasn't there, then where was he?

.

.

The man had been minding his own business for a change. He had always possessed a knack for getting into the most ridiculous and dangerous situations, even when he was actively trying not to get into trouble. Actually, preemptive measures tended to always land him in the worst situations so far, such was his luck. This time however he hadn't gone chasing rogue werewolves, he hadn't heard a thing about vampires on the zone, he had taken care of that nasty family of ghouls last week and that skin-shedder (1) from a nearby city some time before that. Today he hadn't even opened the newspaper, precisely not wanting to see some supernatural or magical mess that needed to be cleaned up.

He should've remembered how his luck tended to run contrary to his desires.

It was around ten in the morning. Half an hour ago he had finished his morning routine, which consisted of three hours of excruciating exercises, had taken a shower and was currently enjoying a piping-hot cup of his favourite blend of tea. He was seated on a comfortable chair in the porch of his house overlooking Champlain Lake. The house was an old family heirloom from the Peverell branch of his family and since he was the last Peverell, as far as he knew, it was his.

He liked the house. Not only it was a nice building, if a bit big for one person, it also was isolated and quiet, what with his only neighbours being the inhabitants from Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge.

The man sipped at his tea and sank even farther into his chair, strangely content with staying still and merely listening to the chirping of the birds as well as the occasional splatter that happened each time a fish jumped out of the water, careening into the air and into the water once more. Seeing the water settle itself each time was soothing in a way that only meditation had been able to accomplish for him, with the added benefit of not being boring.

Then 'it' happened.

'It' being a man who appeared out of thin air, twenty-something feet over his head level and consequently fell down on the roof of his storage shed. The unknown man was lucky that the shed was quite old and that Harry hadn't seen a reason to repair it and reinforce its structure. All the same, Harry cringed at the loud sound of wood snapping and rubble falling down. That person was going to be really sore come morning, unless he was an enemy, then he was going to stop _being._

As it turned out, Harry didn't recognize the stranger's features. He didn't have a magical signature either, but he had some sort of strange and vaguely familiar energy which at the moment was dangerously low. It was only thanks to Harry's extensive training in recognizing energy signatures that he noticed in the first place. With a sigh Harry levitated the rubble off the man and then levitated said man into his house and the guestroom. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave the injured man or being outside to die; that didn't mean that he wasn't going to investigate. Oh no, by the time his guest recovered consciousness he was going to know everything that could be known and then some.

Hermione had really rubbed on him more than she would ever know.

True to his intentions, by the time Castiel awoke, Harry knew what, or more precisely, who his guest was and what he was going to do next. Curiously, it hadn't been all that difficult to find answers. All of them were resumed in the piece of aged scripture that was resting on one of the den's various tables. It took him some time but Harry had remembered where the feeling of familiarity came from.

_It was late at night when a shadow shaped vaguely like a man disengaged itself from the heavy shadows that covered the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. The individual shadow was indeed a man. His name was Harry Potter, loved and hated saviour of the Wizarding World, and it was for that very same reason that he was sneaking around at three a.m. instead of doing his business in the morning like any sane person would._

_He looked around once, only seeing the dark and covered windows of the stores, and hurried off towards Gringotts. The white structure glowed under the stars with almost the same intensity than it did at day, its doors open like a golden maw. Gringotts truly didn't sleep, always conducting business, even during war times. The only time Gringotts had closed its doors it had been during the last Goblin Revolt. During that time you would do better if you were to try to infiltrate the White House, on broad light, waving a bazooka around and wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed: "The Best Terrorist Ever!". It would hurt less too. _

_He was received by a wide awake and aware goblin and lead towards his account manager, he had an appointment after all. _

"_Lord Potter, what can I do for you?" If the goblin was bothered by the hour it didn't show in any way; it was difficult to say, though, as every goblin was rude and had a very to-the-point attitude._

_Rudeness or not, Harry still offered a slight bow to show respect. His attitude had gained him, if not friends, at least convenient allies in the Goblin Nation, which was awesome considering the stunts he and his friends had pulled during the last months of the war. It helped that he was their wealthiest client._

"_I came to receive the last of my inheritance." _

_Harry was twenty one and Lord of many old families. It was a bit abnormal to receive an inheritance so late but nor unheard of. Usually it happened on request, and Godric Gryffindor had requested twenty one as the one and only condition for his heir to open his vault._

_The goblin nodded but Harry wasn't finished. "And about that thing we talked about last time?" _

"_Everything has been arranged. You will have to visit our sister branch on the States to finalize the security details and it will work as a nexus with us." _

"_Good, it's much appreciated." He didn't say anything else, knowing that it wouldn't have been appreciated by them. The only thing goblins liked was gold and he had paid in advance._

_The ride to Gryffindor's vault was longer than usual due to the fact that it was the one of the first four vaults to be created. That was more than a bit mindboggling. The inside of the vault was impressive too, once they got around the many, many and very deadly security measures. It made Harry glad that Voldemort hadn't hidden his horrocrux into Slytherin's vault. Inside there was gold, of course, lots of gold and a plethora of other interesting things but it was the red and golden trunk that held Harry's attention. He directed his steps towards it and after a bit of tinkering, losing some more blood and magic, it opened._

_The first thing Harry noticed was that it was enlarged, not by much but enough to hold thrice the amount of things that it should. His second thought was that it should've belonged to Rowena instead of Godric as it was full of books. Only then he saw the letter. He had no idea of what the material was but it most definitely wasn't parchment. Probably some kind of animal skin, he thought vaguely as he picked it up and carefully turned it around. He almost dropped it as he read what was written on the outside: _

'_To the Master of Death.'_

_He gulped nervously but plunged on, not quite as deterred as he should probably be, had he been anyone else._

'_I am sure you are wondering who I could possibly be. Before answering that question I feel I must point out that you are not yet ready to believe the truth. Nevertheless, I will tell you. My name is Raziel and I am an Angel of the Lord...'_

Raziel had been right; Harry hadn't believed a word at first. That changed eventually, when he came around to reading Godric's Journals. Raziel, 'Keeper of Secrets', 'Angel of Mysteries', both epithets were spot on. The Archangel had been the closest to God -and that last one still boggled Harry's mind- so naturally he/she/it knew everything that was said in presence of God, as well as everything that God deemed suit to tell His confidant about. And Raziel had written Harry a letter containing many of those truths. Well, the letter had been written for the Master of Death, who apparently was destined to appear on Godric's line. If it isn't clear by now that Harry is the Master of Death then you need to wash your ears pal.

So now here Harry was, waiting in the den for his guest angel to wake up. If he hadn't messed up his estimations then it would happen soon and if his intel was correct then the other's curiosity will drive him to look him out. It took another five hours before the angel found his way back into consciousness and twenty more minutes before his hunched form leaned heavily on the doorway. Harry looked up from the book he was reading but didn't make any move towards the injured angel, knowing that it wouldn't be appreciated at the moment, if ever.

"Before we start playing twenty questions I suggest you take a seat," he signalled to the comfortable looking sofa across from him, "and maybe a bite, I'm sure you're hungry."

Castiel hesitated for a second before a wave of agonizing pain shot through his vessel's -now his- body, his vision darkened for a fraction of a moment and the room started spinning around. He didn't realize he had started falling until the green-eyed stranger was besides him, supporting his weight and obviously keeping him upright. Castiel let the stranger guide him to the vacant seat and help him down without jostling his tender, now mortal, flesh. He blinked slowly and tried to follow the stranger's movements, feeling strangely light-headed and detached all of sudden. Next thing he knew a glass of sweetened water was right under his nose and on his lips.

"Drink," was the clear order, so he took a sip, right before trying to gulp the entire content of the glass with the desperation of a man that had been submitted to the scorching heat of the dessert. "Slow down," chided the stranger and now the glass was out of reach. He whined low on his throat.

The water seemed to help though, as Castiel's gaze focused a bit more and a flush of embarrassment took prominence on his cheeks. He hadn't whined, had he?

"Drink it in sips or you'll make yourself sick," instructed Harry and put the glass on Castiel's hands. Then he retook his seat and smiled in satisfaction when Castiel followed his instructions. "I'm Harry by the way."

"Castiel," was the curt reply. Harry nodded and didn't comment on the rudeness. He had experience with socially inept people (himself) and with people who shouldn't have been allowed into society in the first place (Severus Snape). Castiel fortunately fell into the first category.

"You've been unconscious for almost a week," he informed. "I fed you regularly but soup and water is hardly filling so take it easy." Castiel opened his mouth to protest but... "And yes, you do need sustenance, or at least you need it now."

"How do you..."

"...know?" finished Harry. Castiel nodded. "My ancestor is Godric Gryffindor." Understanding lit in Castiel's eyes.

Now, for those who don't know the story, the time of the founders of Hogwarts was, truly, a Dark Time. Not so much because of the Witches Hunts but because of The Demons War. That time was a time when demons were a lot more present than nowadays. The cracks that led to Hell were more numerous, widened by the superstitious people that more often than not offered themselves to the monsters. That and the Devil Gates that are now spread around the world were just being built, and so the evilness was barely kept at bay thanks to annual, sometimes by-annual, rituals and sacrifices.

In those turbulent times it was natural for some ambitious character to try to take advantage of the opportunity. They didn't succeed very often as then the then church was as powerful as they claimed to be. But one did. His name was lost to history but he succeeded were many others had failed. He was smart. He knew that confronting the Church would get him killed on sight, so he worked around it. He searched for many, many years until he found a crevice, an insignificant fissure not large enough to even be a window-cell to Hell and therefore not noticed by the specialist that searched for that kind of thing. This unnamed person created one of the foulest rituals in existence, which is presumed lost as well, and in the end he managed what he wanted: he expanded the insignificant crevice into a proper Gateway to Hell.

The resulting disaster was a massacre.

It got so bad that at some point wizards, witches and holy warriors ended up fighting side by side and watching each other's backs. But in the end it was Godric Gryffindor who succeeded where everyone else had failed: he contacted Heaven and struck a deal with an angel who was willing to lend a hand to humanity. And so the war, which had been tilting towards the demons, resumed with renewed fervour. Finally, and after many more deaths, the fissure was closed and the first Demon Gate was created.

Unfortunately, the fact that the angel had listened to a wizard and not to a Holy Man was not forgotten by the church. The animosity returned and the burnings resumed with renewed hatred. In spite of this, friendship had bloomed in the battlefield in the form of Godric and Raziel. They had parted in good terms and Raziel kept watch over the magical human, going as far as visiting a couple of times. In one of those visits Raziel left behind a message destined to one of Godric's descendants.

This piece of history was eventually lost to time except for very few journals and books. One of those journals being Godric's, which remained sealed with the rest of his things until a descendant could claim them. And claim them Harry did.

"I know what you are, I know what is going on and I know how to help you out," with this said Harry took something from one of his many hidden pockets and deposited on the table.

It was a ring, a silver ring with a milky white, rectangular stone in the centre. Castiel recognized it immediately. His hands clenched and, had he been powered, the glass would've cracked in a thousand pieces.

"How?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to process what his eyes were seeing.

"I have my sources," Harry said and deliberately moved his right hand over his left one, showing off the golden ring with a pitch-black stone imbedded into it. If you looked closely enough you could see a golden design in the stone: an equilateral triangle, with a circle inside and divided in two by a vertical line.

Castiel recognized that ring too as demonstrated by the widening of his eyes. "You?"

Harry nodded. "You must understand that this ring," he tapped the silver one, "is a loan. When everything is said and done I will call it back and it will heed my call because I'm its Master's Master."

The information was simple and clear but Castiel heard the warning in the words: don't try to keep it because you _can't_. And he wouldn't because he didn't want to find out what the ring may do to him, or worse, Dean.

The angel nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Harry then pushed Death's rings towards Castiel, who pocketed it. "There is something else but first eat something, you'll need your strength and starving yourself won't help any."

With a sigh Castiel grabbed a toast and nibbled on it. It wasn't very tasty but then again, what did he knew of human food? The Master of Death apparently could read minds for he said with an amused voice:

"It tastes better with jam," he pointed to it, "or butter, or cheese, or ham, unless angel are vegetarians, then not to the ham," he pointed to each of the offered foods. Castiel gingerly picked a slice of cheese from the little pile and put it on his toast.

"Angels don't eat, why would we be vegetarians?"

Harry's lips twitched but he waved the question aside and served some tea that had been kept hot thanks to a nifty rune carved in the teapot. He served one to the angel who took it without question. A but load of sugar later and Harry was ready to continue. He bended over a little and lifted a small backpack with obvious expansion charms on it as attested by the way his entire arm disappeared inside it.

"Aha!" he cried. In his right hand he now had a sheathed dagger.

He rested it on the table in direct sight to Castiel who recoiled so fast when he saw it that he splashed his tea everywhere. The almost humane angel hissed at the burns in his hands but didn't take his eyes from the weapon, not even as he abandoned his cup in favour of the handkerchief Harry was offering.

"I thought all Spirit Blades had been destroyed," accused Castiel, now more wary than ever.

"Most were. A few survived though, in particular those that were never used in the first place."

Spirit Blades had once been a terrible threat. Blades that didn't cut the flesh but went directly for the soul, or whatever form of energy that occupied its place, like grace. Fortunately the secret to make them had died with the blacksmith that created them. But before he died he managed to create a dozen swords and at least twice as many daggers, all of them different in design except for the runes that littered the deadly blade. The existence of Spirit Blades was another black spot of history, carefully blackened so it may never happen again; many souls had been destroyed by the cursed blades and it had thrown the circle of reincarnation through a loop, one from which it had only recently recovered.

Not all blades were able to completely obliterate souls, however. Only the swords had the capability. That didn't mean that daggers weren't dangerous, they didn't destroy but they damaged and treatment for a damaged soul was very difficult to come by, especially for humans. An angel could be healed but that too depended on how much time had passed and for how long the blade had remained lodged the injury. They were fearsome things.

After a long, tense silence, Castiel spoke. "Why are you trying to give me this? I'll destroy it."

"I know and I don't care. I would appreciate it actually." Harry admitted. "But tell me, how do you plan to force Lucifer back into the cage?"

Castiel had been asking the same question to himself for a while and he hadn't yet come up with a suitable answer or an answer at all. He understood what the male in front of him was implying, though.

"You want me to use it on him." He needed to be sure.

"Yes, you or the Winchesters, I don't care who. I would've said that you're a safer choice but right now the three of you are quite in the same boat." Harry was referring of course to the fact that Castiel was, by all intents and purposes, human.

Silence descended on them. Harry didn't mind, he picked his book again and let the angel consider his options. He was almost one hundred percent sure of what the celestial being would chose, Harry was a warrior too and he had fought a hopeless battle once. You always had to make difficult choices, no matter how much you hated it. Castiel was indeed thinking along those lines, of his options. In the end he came to the same conclusion: no matter how much he hated the mere thought, he would do it, because it evened the impossible odds a bit and they seriously needed it.

Castiel stomach rumbled then. Harry looked up, his eyebrows raised at the monstrous sound while Castiel busied himself by trying to figure out the reason for the sound, looking at his belly with a confused expression.

"Well, it seems to me like you're hungry," announced Harry dryly. "Just as well as it's almost dinner time."

Indeed it was. They hadn't noticed but their little chat had taken up more time than previously thought and the sky was darkening outside. In a matter of minutes Harry took care of the food for him and his guest.

During the course of the meal he amused himself by watching the angel's reaction to his first food as a human. One word: hilarious.

By the time they were done Castiel looked almost ready to drop. Harry would've let him go back to bed then, but there was one more thing he wanted to discuss with the angel. He was about to speak, took a breath to do so... when Castiel's forehead smacked on the hard table with a dull 'thud'.

"Or maybe not," he muttered to himself, hardly able to keep himself from laughing. He did laugh when he saw the red mark on the poor guy's forehead. "Off to bed you go." With a shake of his head Harry carried the angel back to the guest room and proceeded to finish his healing of him.

It had taken Harry all week but finally his potions and spells had done their job. The most difficult thing had been measuring the exact amount he could give the drained angel as vessels always were muggles. That is not to say that potions didn't work on muggles. They do, because potions in itself have magic, it just takes twice the amount of time to heal as muggles don't have the necessary magic to boost the process from slow to almost instantaneous. Another problem is that after feeding a potion to a muggle you have to wait for the substance to flush itself out of you patient's body, or else you risk a lethal overdose. Not one of the pleasantest ways to go.

.

.

The next day Castiel was ready to go back to the Winchesters. Despite Harry's best efforts, he still looked a bit tired and many of his bruises remained as Harry had been more concerned with broken bones and internal bleeding to take much notice about them. But it would've to do and Castiel wasn't complaining, he was actually pretty grateful and said so. Being wary of another was no excuse for being intentionally rude, even he knew as much.

"'S not a problem, so don't think about it. Here," he gave the angel a plain-looking dagger, "you don't want to forget about that, do you?"

Castiel looked at the simple and unassuming dagger, which had the same length as the Soul Blade, and then at Harry. "This is _it_?" A nod. The angel almost dropped the innocuous weapon in his surprise and repulsion; instead he curled his fingers tightly around the sheath. "How?"

"Illusions can take you to places where your senses cannot, don't you think so too?" Was Harry's roundabout reply. Castiel understood anyway.

"This is a _portkey_," he handed a half-way used pencil to the bewildered angel. "It's better than what most wizards regularly use," he said in his defence, "anyway, just say the name of your human and it'll take you to Robert Singer's place. Oh! And read this," he pushed a leather-bound book into the angel's arms. The title read: _'The Lord of the Rings: The fellowship of the Ring'_. Castiel tilted his head and looked at Harry with confusion clear in his face. "Frodo's misfortune may give you an idea on how to use that dagger in the best way possible (2)."

Castiel didn't understand but he nodded anyway. "Thank you, for this and..." he thought back to his healed injuries and the ring that was burning a hole into his pocket and a certain dagger he didn't want to think about, "for everything."

Harry looked surprised for a split second before beaming a true smile to the fallen angel. "You're welcome Castiel. Now go, the boys are worried."

Castiel didn't hesitate, with a firm "Dean Winchester" he was out of Harry's hair and once again in the middle of a war that would decide the future of humanity as a whole. The only difference was that this time he brought with him a real solution, no more wild chases for an uncaring Father, or half-assed guesses. They had a chance.

"You didn't say anything about the Hallows to him," a new voice interrupted the melancholic silence that Castiel's departure had left.

Harry turned around only to come face to face with a familiar face. He was short in stature, with a lean body that didn't get fat in spite of all the sweets he consumed, with blond hair and golden eyes now that he wasn't hiding from either humans or angels. One eyebrow was arched in question but no other emotion was visible on his handsome features.

He shrugged in response. "I couldn't do that to the guy."

The blond frowned slightly and pointed out the glaring failing in that reasoning: "You did it to me."

"Yeah, I did," Harry exhaled a breath, "but you were almost dead and your loyalties were nonexistent as was your faith. Exposing you to the Master of Death's power and as a consequence forcing your loyalty onto me didn't do you any worse. Castiel, on the other hand..." Harry trailed off.

"He would die," finished Gabriel and gave a sigh of his own.

Angels were beings of loyalty and faith, losing one of them more often than not ended in a fallen brother or sister, losing both was lethal. End of the story. Gabriel's loss had been gradual and he had been strong enough to resist the constant pull of death for many millennia. By the time he had found the Winchester brothers the first time he already had one foot on the proverbial grave. When his older brother stabbed him with his own sword he had been barely hanging by the last threads of his loyalty to his family, his faith long gone. Lucifer had mercilessly cut those threads. However, Harry had healed him and the forced loyalty had been enough for a stubborn son of a bitch like him to live again.

Castiel was nothing like him though. The guy was made of faith and loyalty, he lived by them and breathed them as one breathes air, and both had taken a heavy hit when notice of God's desertion reached his ears. Fortunately or not, the young angel had been loyal to Dean for a long time before then, so it hadn't been too much of a stretch to put his loyalty and faith onto the human. It was enough to keep him alive at least.

Harry and Gabriel had planned on lending the Hallows to Castiel, to help him hide from Lucifer so the angel could stab him without being seen or felt. But lending him the Hallows had its risks. Namely that the same that happened to Gabriel would happen to Castiel. And shifting loyalties again, so out of the blue, for an unknown entity?

"Yeah, he would die."

Gabriel hummed. "Well, let's hope that your illusions are as good as you say."

"They are!"

"Of course, of course," said the obnoxious being.

"Shut it, Gabe," was the sulky reply.

.

.

A month later a package appeared on Harry's doorstep. It contained a silver ring with a rectangular, white gem in the middle. It also contained a half-melted and broken dagger; the point of the dagger nowhere to be seen. A folded note was resting on top of both items. Harry picked that first, unfolded the paper and snickered. Gabriel, who was hovering over his shoulder, howled in laugher and maybe some relief.

The note consisted of only two lines:

"_We won. The book was most informative."_

* * *

><p>(1) Harry is referring to a shapeshifter but, as he doesn't have any contact with hunters, he doesn't know the right terminology.<p>

(2) In the _'Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring'_, Frodo is stabbed on the shoulder by the leader of the Nazgûl, the Ringwraits, a foul creature that was once a man. He was later healed but he almost died and it was discovered that a great deal of his worsening state was caused by a fragment of the sword that had been purposely left behind in the wound.  
>Harry here is giving a(nother) hint to Castiel: that of stabbing Lucifer and breaking the dagger so a fragment of the cursed blade remains, forever hindering him and constantly weakening him. It's not like the Cage has a healer or something waiting for the Devil to come back.<p> 


	10. Occlumency and puppies

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, Dean._  
><strong>Pairings:<strong>_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Slight crack at the end. Some elements of Inuyasha but nothing big. _**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry always wanted a dog, did ya know?_  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. This Plot, however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_3723._

**AN: **_Still not what I sort-of promised but it's something at least. It was supposed to be serious-ish but it didn't come out quite like that. Oh, well..._

* * *

><p><strong>10. Occlumency and puppies.<strong>

Harry had never been gladder for Severus Snape's occlumency tortur... lessons, that's it, lessons. He never, as in E.V.E.R., thought that he would feel grateful for the Potions Master's borderline illegal instruction all those years ago. But now he was, oh boy, he most definitely was. Why? You must be asking yourself. The reason was pretty simple once you stopped being incredulous and it was in the form of the evil _thing_ that now resided inside his body, controlling his arms and legs as if they were its own, using his voice and moving his facial muscles to form a gruesome smile of triumph.

How come that Harry-bloody-Potter ended up being possessed by a demon of all things?

It started two weeks ago. Harry had been given an undercover mission, the most dangerous so far because he would be going alone, which meant that nobody would be there to bust his sorry ass out of the line of fire should he slip.

He was meant to infiltrate a group consisting of a bunch of rogue Death Eaters and new recruits that had been terrorizing some _muggle_ towns in Ireland. In spite of the dangers that this kind of mission presented, Harry had done his homework well and had managed to join without undue problems. The problems came a week later when his cover exploded on his face.

It was to be expected, really, because, no matter how much of a Slytherin he was at his core, he never stopped being a Gryffindor. And Gryffindors sucked at being cautious, cunning and everything that was needed for an undercover mission.

So there he was, fighting for his life against fifty or so Death Eaters wannabes. However, instead of staying like a target for practice, he ran. It was an old tactic really. Run ahead of the idiots and pick them one by one. It would've worked wonderfully too, if they were just idiots, but apparently somebody had a functional brain in there. So they had formed groups of five. Defeating five skilled wizards teaming against him was taxing, even for someone with so much magic and expertise in combat like Harry. By the end of an entire week of running, hiding, fighting and bidding his time the best he could, Harry was exhausted magically, physically and mentally.

He was also victorious.

But it was this state of bone-deep exhaustion that would be his undoing. In such a state, in which his magic was at an all time low, he was at his most vulnerable. And his luck sucked badly enough that his one moment of weakness was witnessed by a passing demon, who lapped at the chance of acquiring such a powerful vessel.

Harry hadn't enough strength left to fight the possession, something most wizards could do successfully. But he wasn't one of the most stubborn son-of-a-bitches out there for nothing. As he felt the vile _thing_ crawl its way down his throat Harry put everything left inside him not on fighting, but on defending. He fed the remnants of his magic and all of his undying will to the one place that would always and forever be his: his mind. His incredibly strong _occlumency_ shields slammed shut, his magic roamed the confines of his mind and filled every crevice and flaw, making it impossible for the demon to topple them.

And it tried, oh yes, it tried to worm its way into his mind and soul only to find that it was impossible for it to gain entrance. The wizard's mind, that it had thought would be weak after such a long fight, was practically at its stronger. This fact enraged the demon to no end but there was nothing it could do, not without breaking those walls, something that wouldn't be happening any time soon. His anger became smouldering fury when it realized that, while it had access to the wizard's magic, it couldn't use it because it didn't know _how_. All that knowledge was in its victim's mind, which was banned to it.

The demon screeched with unholy fury when it realized that it had been cheated out of its price.

Deep inside his own mind, Harry Potter smirked to himself, vindictively happy with the knowledge that he had thrown a wrench into whatever plans the demon had had. With a sigh that was neither felt nor heard, Harry retreated further into the warmth of his mind. He was too tired and drained to do much of anything, except for rest and recover silently so that one day he could expulse this malignant being from his body. It would be a while, though, so he let his consciousness slip until he sank into a deep sleep.

.

.

Harry awoke at the sound of fighting, shouting and deranged laugher. Nothing uncommon then. What was uncommon was the not-feeling of his body, as if he didn't have one. Then he remembered and barely resisted the urge to groan, not that anybody but himself would've noticed the sound. He was so deeply submerged in his own subconscious that it was a miracle he had heard anything at all from the outside world.

With a grunt Harry lifted himself from the warm pond of clear water he had been floating for who knows how long. The pond was in the middle of a perfectly circular clearing. The clearing itself was full of life and filled with energy, the grass was a stunning shade of green and countless flowers littered the place in colourful patches. The barrier of trees, on the other hand, didn't look quite so friendly. Hundred upon hundred of huge trunks, dark gray in colour, formed an impenetrable wall; countless of black vines hung like limp snakes from the branches that spawned from the trunks, swaying lightly in an unseen breeze, ready to come to life at the first sign on an intrusion. And that wasn't everything Harry had in store in case somebody tried to invade his mind. Deadly creatures, some real some not so much, lurked in the darkness projected by the humongous trees; plants of all kinds hid themselves in the most innocuous places; illusions and much, much more laid dormant while everything was peaceful but would turn the Dark Forest into a deadly trap at the first sign of something going wrong.

Harry stood next of the pond for a while, pondering which course of action would be the most beneficial in the long run. On one hand, he could leave the clearing and approach a place closer to his conscious mind. The idea had merit, it would yield information on his current situation and would help him plan ahead. However, it had the downside of alerting the demon of his active presence, which would put it on guard and that was a risk he didn't know if he could take. On the other hand, he could just go all out. The suddenness of the attack may be enough to throw the demon off. He could take advantage of that and it would make the following exorcise much less painful for him. This course of action had the obvious downside of him going blind into an unknown situation.

Harry paced a bit, somehow never stepping on the fragile flowers. His magic levels were high, he noted. The demon hadn't made much use of what little it had at its disposal. It was understandable, even if the demon were to just fire magic indiscriminately it would only graze the surface of Harry's reserves as only extensive training and deep knowledge of oneself would allow a wizard or witch to use their magic to its full extent. The demon had neither of them.

Well, that made the decision easier. After all, what was life without some excitement? Jumping into an unknown and potentially lethal situation was just what Harry needed to warm up his sore muscles after a long nap.

Harry's lips curled into a wide and bloodthirsty grin that bared all his teeth in a fairly animalistic way.

And people still wonder if the boy-who-lived is insane.

.

.

Dean felt his back collide painfully against the wall with a grunt, all around him frames and other knick-knacks fell to the floor with loud, broken sounds. He shot a venomous glare to the demon and cursed his luck long and nice in the not-privacy of his mind seeing as his mouth was sealed shut by the smug bastard in front of him. Dean had no idea how this had come to be _this_ time. He was just having a rest from all the madness that came with the opening of the Demon Gate when this happened.

And he had been looking forwards to this mini-vacation too.

Lately it seemed like the only thing they did was hunt down demonic omens and send the bastards back to Hell or killing them when the chance arouse.

There was, of course, those funny times when the Hell-spawns hunted _them,_ the infamous Winchester brothers, down. This was one such time and Dean couldn't believe that this piss-poor excuse for a demon had somehow found a crack in the many security measures they always put in whatever place they were staying for the time being, had managed to separate him from his brother and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, it had him pinned to a wall. In the not-funny way. Dean really wanted to hit himself over this one.

What was it with the supernatural and walls anyway? It seemed like every time he found a demon or a ghost or any other nasty out there, he ended up getting intimate with the walls. It really was getting old.

"Well, well, if it isn't Dean Winchester! How lucky of me!"

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry dude, but I don't swing that way," Dean replied cheekily, unable to contain himself. He even had the time to enjoy the fury displayed in the demon's features. Right before he was thrown through the air and into the opposing wall and onto the unforgiving floor. The pain was intense and for several seconds he couldn't get air into his lungs. He coughed and cleaned his bloody lips with the back of his hand, the sting told him that he had bit the inner side of his cheeks.

"Now, that wasn't nice of you," reprimanded the demon.

Dean response was to spit the bastard in the face.

Using one hand the bastard cleaned his face while he re-pinned the hunter to the wall with a gesture of his free hand. "Ok, I was planning on just killing you and maybe parade your sorry ass in front of dear ol' Sammy, but now I think I'm gonna..."

Dean had no idea what exactly happened next, just that one second he was pinned to a wall, barely able to breathe thanks to the telekinetic force of the attack and the next he was sprawled on the floor and the fugly son-of-a-bitch in front of him was left staring into space. He didn't have time to recover before the guy's head snapped around and focused on him once more. But something was monumentally different in the possessed human.

For starters, his eyes no longer contained the inky blackness of a demon's eyes, not entirely: one eye remained like that, a black expanse of evilness, but the other was completely human in everything except the dangerous intensity of the gaze. The emerald-green eye regarded him for an agonizingly long moment. It was one of the strangest sensations, seeing so much positive emotion in just one eye, while the other glared daggers of pure loathing at him. But the weird didn't end there. The curly and intense red hair straightened, shortened and bled black, all at once. The bulk and height of the man was reduced too so instead of a mountain of a guy he was facing a tallish guy who was packed with tight and coiled muscle, visible but not obvious.

"So, Dean Winchester, huh?" Said the stranger. How he could differentiate between the demon and the guy was a mystery to Dean, but he could and it was the other that was talking to him right now. The green-eyed male looked around the dingy motel room with a strange kind of curiosity, as if it had never seen something so fascinating. Then he focused on Dean once more. "I'm sorry that this happened, I knew it would be trouble to go so deep into my mind but well..." the man shrugged and Dean was honestly speechless as well as struck by the British accent that until five minutes ago hadn't been present.

"Now," Harry continued, completely ignoring the myriad of emotion in the hunter eyes, "I have some business with this fella," he pointed to his black eye for clarification. Although, if one were to look at the eldest Winchester it was obvious that he had no idea what was going on. He only knew that he had what could possibly be the fist bipolar demon in history standing in front of him and talking as if nothing was wrong with the world.

What happened next was so incredible and mind-blowing that it would haunt his thoughts for days on end, at least until his impending death via hellhound took his attention away.

The stranger raised his right hand. The skin was pale and it looked almost delicate but it was the ominous ring that caught the hunter's attention. He didn't know what it was that alerted him, but he knew that the little innocuous black rock on the ring was powerful, more so in the stranger's hand. With a wordless command of his hand the black stone glowed and the man started retching a black sludge that look as appetizing as the three months old sandwich that was sitting in the motel's mini-fridge. Dean didn't need Sam here to know what the black thing was, even if normally it would be in the form of a... well, formless black mist.

Only when everything had stilled did Dean realize that he had stayed rooted to his place like a moron instead of reaching for his gun. He did just that and, surprisingly, the man who apparently could exorcise demons from himself didn't even try to stop him. Dean didn't know if that was because of overconfidence or if the man simply knew that he couldn't be harmed, but it made the hunter uneasy. Still, he reached his gun and turned around. The centre of attention was nowhere near him so he settled for waiting, watching and trying to assess this new twist in the situation, for now at least.

As stated before, Harry wasn't paying attention to the Winchester boy, even if he was acutely aware of every movement the hunter made. His instincts as a soldier were not easily ignored after all. Instead his attention was riveted on the formless demon. Who knew that something so insignificant in appearance could house so much power and cause so much trouble? He hadn't and he still didn't know what his ignorance had cost him. But now, what to do with it? Send it back to Hell? Well, he would if he could or if he was keen on letting the rest of that accursed place know of the Master of Death existence, something he most definitely was _not_. Kill it then? Yes, it was possible and easily done with the aid of Death. But Death was such a final choice; it would be a pity to waste this chance to know more about this kind of demons. What was left then? Containment? Harry pondered that last option. Did he have something which could contain evilness incarnate? He looked to his right hand, which was fisted and keeping the demon temporally trapped.

Maybe he had.

Harry sprayed his left hand and called for the Elder Wand. Almost as soon as he thought about it the wand was there, eager to be used like it always was. He heard the intake of breath from the hunter and the cocking of a gun but did nothing else as he warned.

"I wouldn't shoot if I were you, Dean."

"Yeah, why not?" Challenged the hunter.

"Because it would allow it to be free," Harry pointed to the formless demon. Dean frowned something fierce but didn't say more. He didn't lower his gun though. He still has his flask of holy water and hopefully that along with the firearm would be enough to open him a way out.

Oh! Who was he kiddin'? He was going to die, Dean just knew it.

As Dean settled Harry returned his attention to the matter at hand. He tapped the opposite wrist with the wand and a bracelet made from an unknown material and full of little charms appeared. He tucked the wand away in his ear for easy reach and pulled one of the charms out of the chain: it was a suitcase, a mini suitcase that was subsequently enlarged with a strand of his unique magic.

The suitcase itself was enchanted to be bigger on the inside but still was full to the brim with magical artefacts form different magical communities along the world. Harry rummaged a bit, he ignored the herbs, little bones from some animal or another and a couple voodoo dolls a practitioner had gifted him with some time ago, and went directly to a bunch of paper strips with exotic writings on them. He put one sutra out and grabbed a small velvet bag that make clinking sounds as it swayed from side to side.

Harry straightened himself and closed the suitcase with a careless wave of his free hand, then returned it to its charm form and to its place in his bracelet. He untied the bag with the help of his teeth and let its contents fall. Little balls made of a slightly pink glass rolled on the hard ground, none broken despite the fall. Channelling his magic through the sutra to help directing his energy in a way that was entirely foreign, Harry spoke the words that strange and violent _miko_ had forced him to memorize in case he ever needed to use her blessed beads. The effect was instantaneous. The beads started to glow in the same pink colour that made them, intermixed with the blue colour of his own magic, before they rose from the ground and formed a circle around the wreathing form of the demon. Harry kept the chanting but split his concentration between the containment and the power needed to keep the thing in one place.

When the last word flew from his lips the beads exploded in a show of intense light before shooting towards the demon. That was when the screams started. It came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and it was obvious that the origin was the struggling mass of blackness on the floor, a mass that it was getting smaller as it gained a physical form.

"Fuck! What the hell is going on? What are those things? Say something goddamnit"

Harry didn't turn around but he answered all the same. "Those are 'beads of subjugation' (1). They were used a long time ago to, well, subjugate _yokai_. It's not the only thing they can do, obviously, but only a few know about them in this time and age."

"Then how do _you_ know about them?" asked scathingly the hunter "And what are they doing?" Added Dean when he saw that the mass of black sludge was now only the size of a soccer ball and it was still changing forms.

"A temperamental _miko_ gift them to me," Harry said, ignoring the 'a what?' from Dean; "and I always wanted a dog."

Dean chocked and spluttered. "W-what?"

Suddenly, waiting for the wacko to finish his business didn't seem like a good idea anymore. But when the black haired man pointed to the demon Dean could only gape like an idiot at the sight.

Instead of smoke or that disgusting goo from before, there was a freaking puppy, of all the damned things in Creation, in its place. The only sign that the dog was the same demon from before were those weird as hell beads that now were coloured a deep dark violet with golden streaks intermixed instead of a pale pink.

"What. In. The. Hell?"

Harry shrugged, untouched by the hunter confusion.

"I always wanted a dog," he repeated nonchalantly, as if turning demons into cute puppies was an everyday occurrence. And who knew, it may just be. With the same careless attitude Harry bent and picked the black dog with deep red eyes that was glaring bloody murder at him, but because it was Harry's magic that bound him it could do nothing, not even bite the human much less extract revenge.

Dean, for his part, was speechless and he must've looked like a damn fool standing there, with his gun and jaw hanging limp, but too much was too much. Still, Dean Winchester was a hunter and a hunter didn't let his prey walk away. He shook himself out of his stupor, reeled his jaw back to its place and pointed the gun to the man, or better yet, to the _thing_, that instead of having a demon inside of him, now had a demon in his arms.

On a normal situation Dean may've been able to do something, anything, to prevent that man's departure (read: kill). But this was so far removed from a normal situation that it wasn't even funny. He pointed his charged gun to the back of the man's head, he blinked away a drop of sweat that landed on one eye and when he looked again, he was gone. Nobody was there and he had only the marks of feet on the dust as witness to the encounter. That and the bruises that were blooming beautifully all along his back.

Dean cursed and swore to never drink again before going to bed.

That promise was, of course, broken less than ten minutes later in a nearby and rundown bar where Dean proceeded to get plastered with the intent of forgetting that the attack and subsequent meeting ever happened. Ever.

* * *

><p>(1) In case you haven't guessed, these are the same beads that Kaede put on Inuyasha so Kagome could control him with a command.<p> 


	11. Fatherhood

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Loki/Gabriel, Harry._  
><strong>Pairings:<strong>_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Minimal crossover with Katekyo Hitman Reborn and Spoilers for it_.**  
>Summary: <strong>_Harry gains a new guardian and so the world is doomed._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. This Plot, however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_2052._

**AN:**_ This actually came to me when I started this collection months ago. I'm not sure why I didn't write it before now. Maybe because it deserves to be much more than this. For now, however, it will stay a one-shot, like the others. _

_I do hope you guys like it because I do.  
><em>

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><p><strong>11. Fatherhood…<strong>

**Or**

**That's not what Trick or Treat mean! **

Today was shaping to be 'one of those days', Loki would bet his stash of sweets on it, which definitely said something as he would steal sweets from children's hands before giving up his own.

Like always happen on 'those days', things started out well, excellent even. He woke up from a much (un)needed sleep at some point in mid-morning, a snap of his magic-y finger later and he was being fed a breakfast fit for kings by a beauty he had seen at some point in his long and fun-filled life. At that point his routine had 'MISCHIEF' written all over it and he was more than happy to comfort with that particular idea. The following minutes, however, were spent in indecision about where to relocate his base of operations, more specifically, where he wouldn't be hunted on sight…

Some people just didn't know when to let go of their grudges.

Taking that tiny detail into account… well, that actually crossed out a fair amount of fun places, which just plain sucked if you asked him. So it was like that, with a fair amount of sulking and pouting added for good measure, that Loki transported himself to the chosen place where his Dart of Doom TM had landed. With the god's departure the luxurious place he had inhabited started to fade as its supply of magic was cut short. The last thing that could be seen before everything vanished and the old storeroom reappeared was a map with a hole, a map with a hole made by a very destructive dart, a hole where Syracuse (1) used to be.

Those poor, poor Italians. May God have mercy on their souls.

Nevertheless, and against the very flow of Fate and Destiny, the Italians would come on top of this one. It happened while Loki was somewhat distracted by his preparation of a nasty (and very, very deadly) surprise to the head of the Estraneo Famiglia. It was Halloween so he had allowed himself (even) more leeway than usual; and besides, even with his skewed sense of justice, Loki knew that this bastard deserved everything he got and then some. So immersed in his artwork he was that he never noticed anything amiss, not until he was suddenly and very rudely yanked from his place in Italy and dumped who-know-where. He certainly didn't know where nor did he care.

Fortunately for his plans, Loki had managed to finish at least half of the surprise. It may not kill the douchebag but it was guaranteed to put the fear of God in the bastard, as well as beat whatever reputation he had out of him. And who knows, with any luck the trickster may be able to come back and finish the set-up.

The truth is that Loki won't come back, but the incident will unleash chaos and paranoia will spread like a disease, as a consequence most of the guards will be ordered out of their post and relocated to guard their injured boss leaving other areas somewhat unattended. One of those areas would be the labs where inhuman experiments were conducted on children. Grasping the opportunity presented to him, one Rokudo Mukuro will escape his cell and gladly finish the work that the God of Mischief had started even if he didn't know that last detail. After everything was said and done, covered from head to toe in blood and other disgusting things, Rokudo Mukuro will simply smile and sent a silent thank you to whatever deity had granted him the opportunity of his life.

But back to Loki, and as he stated at the beginning, this really was one of 'those days'. Loki grumbled and cursed a blue streak as he collected his dishevelled self from his impromptu landing-pad, which turned out to be someone's rose bushes. Ouch.

He looked around while dusting his clothes, which happened before he remembered that he was a god and as such he didn't need to do menial work, like dusting himself _manually_. He was impeccable in the span on a blink.

As far as he could guess from his vantage point he had been thrown into some backwards, tiny and isolated town in the middle of fucking nowhere. Fan-fucking-tastic. Honestly, you just needed to add some snow and you got yourself an eighteen century Hallmark postcard. It made him want to puke.

Or destroy something. Yeah, better destroy something.

Anyway, he wasn't staying in a town that didn't have electricity and where everyone was inside their houses at eight p.m. Seriously, where was the fun in that? It was Halloween for crying out loud!

Before he could act on his thoughts though, somebody appeared. Literally. That was enough to rouse the trickster's curiosity. What could a magic user possibly want in this hillbilly town? Deciding that he could spare some minutes to satiate his curiosity, Loki bent reality around his body to make himself invisible.

The newcomer was approaching with fast and impatient strides. The strides were strong and long, a man's stride. A sound of rustling and flapping clothes betrayed that the man was also wearing some sort of long garment, probably a coat. Loki knew better, he knew that the magical community in England was so backward that they still used _robes_. He much preferred pants over any kind of dress since the moment they were invented, _thankyouverymuch_. The man reached the limit of the property he was currently in; he raised his wand -_Loki sneered at the stick of wood_- and chanted something in Latin. He didn't pay attention and was regretting staying altogether when a sound like breaking glass reached his ears. He looked around in time to see the house wards break and disappear as if they had never been there. Wards he had bypassed by merely falling on them.

The man wasted no time and strode past Loki and into the house proper, after blasting the door in an overly-dramatic way, _of course_. Which villain didn't do that? Curious again and despite his better judgment -or what passed as judgment for someone like him- Loki followed. What happened next could only be described as terribly boring -_the man's defeat_-, somewhat brave but ultimately stupid -_the woman's death_-, and intensely interesting -_the baby's victory_. How could that little bag of flesh woven by life and magic accomplish such a feat was not something Loki could understand. His other self was closer to understanding the complexities of human nature but not by much so he didn't bother in changing mindsets.

He traced his index finger close to the wound on the baby's forehead, smearing blood in the process but not caring. A lightning bolt. It was a curious mark to have on one's forehead, made doubly especial by the dark presence inside it. Chaos was always special, aligned with Fate it could only bring Mayhem. Truly a beautiful combination. Emerald-green eyes opened and regarded him with curiosity and something deeper, hidden away for now but always lurking close to the surface. The baby blinked and the dangerous feeling was lost; forgotten, however, it was not.

Loki somehow knew that this boy would be lots of fun to be around one day. Even if the boy didn't do anything remarkable, something Loki couldn't picture no matter how hard he tried, Chaos would always follow him like a lost puppy. A stray thought hit him then. What would happen if the boy was aware of it, if the boy guided with a fine hand the flow of Chaos? Loki's eyes gained an interested and calculating glint. _That_ he could see. What he could not picture was the reason he was having such thoughts in the first place. This human boy had nothing to do with him and he certainly didn't care about him, so from where were this thoughts coming? Not from him, not entirely at least.

Something didn't add up and Loki hated it when things didn't add up. It usually ended in betrayal, or abandonment, or endless pain, or all of the above.

The answer was whispered gently into his brain but to him it felt as if someone had slammed a sledge hammer in his head, repeatedly. His entire being shook violently, not from the force of the voice but from the emotions it evoked, all of them negative except for one: Love. No matter how much he hated the origin of the voice, how much agony he suffered, how sad he was, how indifferent he acted, how cold he became or how rebellious he turned out to be, he still loved Him. Because, which son could not love their Father?

Loki crumbled, his façade, his mask crumbled; not entirely for he had been Loki for too long, he still was Loki in his heart; but now, instead of a Nordic God of Mischief, a completely different being stood in his place. A being of light and purity, of beauty and loyalty, of everything good that had ever existed and will ever exist. A being that had cold eyes, a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, a being that had suffered and had been beaten down until he ran away and cloaked himself with the smokescreen of Paganism. But his smoke had been blown away and Gabriel didn't remember a time when he felt more naked than now, never mind the fact that he was clothed.

Gabriel didn't utter a word, either too ashamed or too angry to give them form and wings, he didn't know. He didn't utter a word but he listened attentively, partly because he had to and partly because he had missed his Father's voice, he had missed Him so much… all of them had. Their Father's absence was like a gaping hole of madness and everything dark and hurtful in the universe. There was a time when he thought that if the hole in his chest grew any bigger it would end up swallowing him whole. Sometimes he didn't think it would be that bad, certainly preferable to the half-life all of them walked.

God's voice trailed away, leaving the path open in the middle of a crossroad. He was being given a choice. That was new, Gabriel thought absently, emotions still too raw to dwell on them but his mind was clear like the waters of Heaven. That brought a fresh wave of homesickness strong enough to make him cringe physically. But back to his options…

Gabriel looked at the baby, Harry, who returned the favour with bright green eyes. Now he knew why he had thought about taking the kid under his, Loki's, wing, or wings as the case may be. Cautiously he picked the little human up and carefully accommodated his arms around the fragile body. Harry seemed to like the change if the broad smile on his chubby face was any indication. A moment later he yawned and with little to no preamble he fall asleep, left thumb in his mouth and his other hand fisted around Gabriel's clothing. And damn it if that scene didn't melt the Archangel-slash-Trickster's heart at least a little bit.

Gabriel caressed the bloody forehead again, cleaning the blood and healing the wound as much as it could be healed. Harry sighed and snuggled closer to his only source of comfort in the world, angelic face peaceful even as the strands of Fate and the forces of Chaos wound themselves to his little frame. Gabriel followed suit and sighed too. His decision had been made for him by the little tyke it seems.

"I hope You know what You're doing Dad, 'cause this will be the trickiest upbringing of the century and if the world is not ready it may just explode," Gabriel murmured softly, still looking at the baby.

With that Loki came back to the forefront of their being and a chilling smile took over his handsome features. Gabriel the Archangel and Loki the Trickster may be the same being, two parts of the same whole, but Harry was not going to be Gabriel's son, he was Loki's and the God of Mischief was going to make sure that his Heir was more than up to the tasks and hurdles ahead of him.

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><p>(1) Syracuse, Sicily in Italy. Just in case 'cause there is one in New York, I think.<p> 


	12. No place like home

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry/Hariel, Castiel, Gabriel and much more. __  
><em>**Pairings:**_ None_**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Some fluffiness and Castiel-induced cuteness. AU. OOCness. Hints of darkness and angst._**  
>Summary: <strong> _All the important lessons are hard to learn and the new angel brings with him what may be the hardest lesson of all. In the end it's worth it._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. This Plot, however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_9127._

**AN:**_ Big hiatus, sorry 'bout it but my interest has been kidnapped by The Doctor, that cheeky Time Lord. However this was mostly done so I put the finishing touches and woila! It's the longest one-shot so far. _

_Don't know when or if there will be another update. Anything is possible when it comes to my whimsical muse.  
><em>

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><p><strong>12. No Place Like Home. <strong>

The new angel was odd and strange and alien and every other synonym they could think of.

He had appeared out of nowhere and in the worst time Heaven had ever seen, right after Lucifer had been cast out. The only reason he hadn't been taken prisoner without a word or killed on sight was the shockingly red rune carved on his right cheek, exactly over the cheekbone.

_Father_, it depicted, and even an idiot could have told you that it meant protection. For one reason or another, their Father had deemed this angel worthy of His protection and, for the life of them, they couldn't figure it out.

But it wasn't just his abrupt arrival in the middle of a tumultuous time or the fact that he was sporting their Creator's touch that had every angel on Heaven on edge, it was his power, more specifically, the nature of his powers. While every angel on Heaven had their own little quirk that set their grace apart from their brothers, they were, on essence, the same: Light. The new angel, however, was Shadow and Darkness. Their wariness honestly had nothing to do with his blacker-than-night hair, his pale parlour, or his weirdly-tinted wings. It was a subtle feeling, something that wafted from the petite angel in invisible waves, something that was present in the shadows that lurked behind his intensely green eyes and his fake smile.

They had never met an angel that saw it fit to fake happiness either. They were happy or they were not and that was it.

All in all, they were wary and they were not welcoming even if they never showed it openly. They didn't need to, for they were beings that connected deeply with their spirits and minds. And so the truth was obvious in the silence that permeated the newcomer's mind and the lack of threads connecting to his odd grace.

His name was Hariel and, as sad as the situation was, he couldn't muster the energy to care anymore.

Hariel hadn't always been an angel; that was, in fact, a rather new development in the long list of shitty happenings that made up his existence. He had always been the odd one out though, so the cold shoulder that his new family saw fit to give him shouldn't have come as a surprise. And it didn't, he wasn't surprised. Disappointed? Yes. Disillusioned? A lot. Hurt? Yeah, that too. But he wasn't surprised as this treatment wasn't anything new to the newest angel of Heaven who took in the magnificent sights of his new Home with jaded eyes that didn't belong into his youthful face.

He had to admit, though, that Heaven was everything that the Christians of his time imagined and more, much more. Except for the part of living in clouds; much like in Earth, the clouds were over their heads. They _could_ reach them and they _could_ perch on them but it wasn't a common occurrence, something that he was glad about. Flying was awesome, really, but perching on clouds and playing the harp day in day out was another thing altogether.

But back to Heaven, the centre was the White City. It was built in seven levels and was exactly as it sounded: a city made of the purest whites in existence. The top was where His throne resided and the only ones allowed there were God's top soldiers: the Archangels, as well as the gardener: Joshua; unless, of course, you were required by Him. As far as he knew it wasn't a common occurrence.

Spanning from the first ring, with its blindingly white Pantheon on the centre, were six other levels. There weren't any walls separating those, just luscious gardens teeming with life, and no real difference in between them except for the fact that the outer rings were bigger and less crowded. Not that the White City was crowded, mind you, there was actually enough space inside the city to house ten times the number of angels currently inhabiting it. He didn't need to guess to know that the recent war was the one responsible for it.

Hariel was really glad that he hadn't arrived while the war was raging. He felt slightly guilty about it but he had had enough of wars to last him forever. The consequences, however, were glaringly obvious. The seventh and sixth rings were ruined, completely and utterly demolished under the onslaught of Lucifer's army. The rocks had crumbled, the grass had wilted and trees had been uprooted. And everything was soaked in blood: the pearly substance that was angel's blood and the disgustingly black sludge that was demon's blood. The black blood made Hariel shiver in disgust and his skin crawl thanks to the sheer evil he could feel reeking from it.

.

Three weeks had passed since his arrival and nobody had paid him much attention as of yet busy as they were with the injured and the dead. He had offered his assistance but had been told that it wasn't required at the moment. He had nodded in understanding, smiled and left the offer hanging in the air, where it would stay, untouched. He wasn't stupid, in spite of the mild tone in which he had been declined he knew that they would never call him unless it was to interrogate him. He didn't willingly approach any other angel again.

Nevertheless, he didn't leave to do something else. He let them work and take care of their injured and once they left the site he started doing his own, self-assigned, job. He didn't know why he did it, there was no reason for him to help and he hadn't been given any. But looking around the destruction he found that he couldn't sit still. He had never been able to sit tight while others did the grunt part of the job. He had down-right detested the few times he had been forced to wait idly while his friends risked their lives in some random battlefield. The war here was over and these angels were neither his friends nor his family, but the situation remained the same in many ways. At the very least the manual job would help him clear his mind from unwelcome thoughts about the unknown fate of said friends.

Let it be known that clean-up job wasn't, by any impossible stretch of the imagination, fun. He may not be the one hauling bodies but... standing around fallen walls, craters, scorched spots and splatters of blood, Hariel was forcefully reminded of many other battlefields... and dozens of others clean-ups. Few things were worse, he decided as he levitated a column out of his way, than staying behind to try and put the pieces of a broken life together. Slowly he put it where he knew it belonged and with a bit of an effort he managed to twist his odd mix of newly gained grace and old magic into an effective spell that resembled a _reparo_. It wasn't the same though, because _reparo_ couldn't recreate the missing parts of the object in question and that was exactly what his new spell did.

Hariel shrugged and moved on, chalking the odd occurrence to the fact that he wasn't human anymore and thus wasn't tied to their rules, whichever those rules were. He had never quite figured it out.

He was twisting his way around what he guessed used to be a well cared for and breathtakingly beautiful garden when he heard a weak call. He froze, dreading that he may've been discovered doing something he was not supposed to do, thus angering someone more powerful than himself. When a minute passed, then three minutes and then ten more he relaxed. He shook his head at his paranoid and not to mention ridiculous actions, feeling suddenly foolish because of them. What did it matter that he was in an abandoned section of the gigantic city? And as far as he knew repairing things wasn't a crime.

He had resumed his walking when he heard the voice again, only this time he didn't freak out on the spot. He stopped, looking around with narrowed eyed. He hadn't noticed the first time, but if his exceedingly good hearing wasn't playing tricks on him, then that voice belonged to a child, a very frightened and possibly hurt angel-child. Then his hero complex kicked in.

"Hello? Where are you?" called the raven-haired angel in an even voice that held a soothing quality to it.

Silence was his only answer but he wasn't discouraged just yet. The child was obviously scared out of his or her wits and wary in spite of the dire situation. It was a good reaction to have during wartime.

"Hey child, the fight is over, there is no need to be afraid now." Staying mostly still, Hariel looked around, trying to spot the most likely place for this child to be either hidden or trapped. He also let some of his grace to surface; this served a double purpose: soothing the fledging and helping him focus on his sensing abilities, which were practically non-existent.

Finally his efforts paid off.

"R-really? I-i-it's o-ver?" The voice was weak and raspy as it floated from somewhere to his left.

Hariel frowned in worry as he directed his steps towards there. He knew that angels didn't need sustenance in the same way that humans did, they had no need for food or water or sleep. At least grown angels didn't need it. Children on the other hand...

He kept his voice low and soothing and never stopped talking. "Yeah, it's over. Everyone is helping rebuilding what was... damaged and the injured are getting better," _except for the dead_, he added in the privacy of his lonely mind. More silence. Hariel stomped down the worry in his chest. "Talk to me kiddo so I can know where you are. Why don't you tell me what you can see?"

"I-it's dark," whispered the kid through chattering teeth. "And d-damp and c-c-cold."

"_Dark, damp and cold, that sounds like a cave, which there isn't any around, or a hole, which is possible,"_ analyzed Hariel in his mind. He added out loud: "Well, here is sunny and nice so hold up for a little while and I'll get you out in no time, how does that sound?"

"N-nice, it sound-ds n-n-nice."

No more than a minute had passed when Hariel found himself facing huge section of what once was a stone wall and an arch, pieces of them were resting heavily on top of the trunk of a huge willow. A few feet to the side a dirtied pond that may've been beautiful once could be seen, a few colourful petals still floated and swayed slightly. The willow had been uprooted by some kind of monstrous energy attack, the same attack that had toppled the wall and other nearby structures. Hariel could tell just by seeing it that the tree had been magnificent and ancient, the huge roots were a testament to that.

It reminded Hariel of the Whomping Willow, it even had a hole or tunnel under it.

"Kid, do me a favour and get as far away from the rocks as you can." When a positive answer reached him Hariel put the considerable power at his disposition to work.

It took some serious effort and his complete concentration to lift all the heavy pieces of wall without dropping anything into the hole where the little angel had taken refuge. But he succeeded. He dropped them without fanfare on the side, too tired by the sudden effort to care. Ignoring the strain that using so much of his energy at once in such enormous quantities caused him, Hariel crawled over the entrance of the hole. Two dimming pools of blue fire met his own emerald gaze.

"Hey kiddo, need me to levitate you?"

"P-lease?" The voice was getting weaker and he could recognize some kind of pain there too.

"No problem, just stay still."

Lifting the small body of the fledging didn't even take an effort and so in mere seconds Hariel's lap was full of silently sobbing child. It seemed like the near-death experience had finally caught up with the little one. Awkwardly, the black-haired angel hugged the kid and tried to sooth him. When back-rubbing didn't do the trick he resorted to something he had never thought he would ever use. He sang. Or more like hummed. It was a lullaby and the only memory -besides green light and deranged laugher- that he had of his mother. At the time he had been so little that he had no idea if it had a lyric and he had never found out. Still, whenever he was distressed, humming what little of it he could remember never failed to calm him.

It apparently worked on little angels too. Hariel smiled slightly at the softening of the kid's breathing. He kept humming and mussing the dark blonde hair on that head, which caused the little guy's eyes to start dropping. He was glad that the kid had calmed but falling asleep in his state was dangerous. The kid's wings were a mess, one was obviously broken and half of his feathers were missing or scorched; he had burns and bruises all over and at least one broken leg. Had the little guy been human he would be long dead. In any case Hariel didn't feel the need to test how much damage an angel could survive so he stood up and began making his way out of the ruins.

"Hey little guy, don't fall asleep just yet," he said and tugged an ear when he was ignored. A yelp and a tired glare notified him of his success. "You were there a long time, without food or water, and you are tired as well as hurting, I get it. But you don't want to fall asleep and never wake up, do you?" The child's eyes widened and he frantically shook his head, before wincing at the movement. "Then you've to stay awake for a bit longer. I know it hurts but I'll take you where somebody can help you." He probably could do it himself, actually, he _knew_ that he could, but he didn't feel like starting his healing career by experimenting on a child.

"So, what's your name? I can keep calling you 'little guy', I'm little too so imagine how confusing that would be!" Hariel exclaimed, making fun of his less than stellar height. His efforts paid off when the kid cracked a small smile.

"I'm Castiel," informed his injured charge, voice no longer trembling, fortunately.

"Castiel, huh? That's a nice name. Mine's Hariel, nice to meet you, little Cass!"

'Cass' frowned. "My name is not 'Cass', its Castiel," informed the kid in all seriousness.

It was too cute for words.

"I know, you've just told me. Cass is a... term of endearment." the kid still looked confused so he tried to elaborate. He needed to keep Castiel awake and talking was the safest route. "Sometimes... sometimes friends and family who appreciate each other give that person a different name, one that means something special to them. Castiel is a great and strong name and it suits you," and boy it did, the guy had spent at least three weeks buried in a cold hole and he was not only lucid but alert, mostly. "But I think that my newest friend needs his own form of endearment."

"Friend?" Oh, right, Heaven apparently was not very big on friendship, which was bullshit in his opinion. Family on the other hand...

"A friend is like family, only that this one is chosen. Friend is somebody you trust and that in exchange trusts you, always, in every situation. Friends don't need to share blood like family does, although sometimes a family member can be a friend too." He looked down at Castiel who looked adorably confused. "You'll understand it someday, just know that not everyone can be your friend, only those that you would trust with your life and for whom you would die for."

Castiel nodded, face scrunched in thoughtful contemplation, once more being too adorable for words. Hariel managed to stifle his laugher, instead he sighed in relief when he stepped out of the huge gardens and onto open space. Here he could take off in flight.

"I'm going to fly as it would take less time to reach the Healer's Centre. It may rattle your injuries a bit, though. Unless you want me to walk? If so you need to stay awake."

Castiel looked unsure and a bit scared, it was obvious that his injuries were paining him and that he wasn't keen on feeling more pain. Still, he nodded and agreed softly but with conviction. "Fly."

Not one to demean him by asking if he was sure, Hariel nodded and uncovered his wings. The wings were huge and impressive and he was quite proud of them. They were at least twice as large as he was tall, and coloured in a mixture of metallic greens and blues with some streaks of crimson. They actually reminded him of the colour he had seen once on a hummingbird. He heard Castiel's gasp of delighted surprise and heard a whispered "they're beautiful" and smiled. He wasn't a flashy being by nature but Hariel had to admit that the acknowledgement felt good.

Without losing anymore time, Hariel launched himself into the air as gently as he could. It wasn't enough to prevent Cass from whimpering in pain but the little guy didn't cry or complain. He was honestly impressed. He had seen adults turn into bawling babies for less.

.

He naturally arrived in the middle of a curious crowd. Attracting unwanted attention was apparently ingrained in his very being. But since he hadn't flown much since his arrival, always hateful of the attention he had an innate knack to attract, he supposed that the curiosity was understandable. It didn't make him feel any better.

At least angels had enough intelligence and common sense to get out of the way when it was needed, like right now. They parted to give him space to land and they did the same thing when he moved towards the Healer Centre entrance, having seen the hurt child clinging to him like a winged limpet.

The pseudo-hospital was full to the brim with patients, some ready and eager to leave and some that would never do so, not alive. It was completely different from the muggle Hospitals he had seen on the TV, unfortunately the same could not be said for Hogwarts infirmary. They two were similar, eerily similar, except for the size and some obvious difference in culture. The differences didn't make Hariel feel any better. But he was a man...err, angel on a mission so, with all the pig-headed stubbornness and single-mindedness that characterized him, Hariel plunged onwards.

He completely ignored the surprised and/or outraged healers in favour of searching for one specifically, and thanks to all the random information that God had dumped inside his mind he knew exactly where to find him.

Raphael was not having a good day... No, better make that a good month. He was not having a good month. The war had been brutal, many had died, many had been injured and he had been right there in the middle of a sea of blood, healing allies and maiming enemies on regular intervals. The worst had been seeing his big brother, his idol in every sense, leading the enemy side.

It had almost destroyed him.

It had almost destroyed all of them. But at least his brothers got to rest now that it had ended, he had no such luxury. He was a healer, the best one, and it was their job to clean up the mess, close wounds, reset bones, reunite limbs if possible, smooth torn and clawed grace and lift flayed spirits. He was honestly sick of it.

He was currently resetting a bad break on a wing when the newest angel, who dared prance around with their Father's mark, entered his sanctuary like he owned it. Following closely behind him were many of his once apprentices, looking frustrated, frazzled and scared. The scared part, he supposed, was directed at him seeing how the newcomer wasn't even bothering to pretend that they existed. Raphael was ready to tear into this intruder when his attention was grabbed by a pained whimper coming from the other's arms. What had possessed him to not notice the injured child clinging to the strange angel? It was glaringly obvious when one took a second to look.

It seemed like the angel, Har-something-or-another, thought similarly, if the acidic and frankly impressive glare sent his way was anything to go by.

Ignoring the mass of healers at his back with the experience gained from dodging rabid hyenas... I mean, journalists, Hariel walked towards a free bed and tried to get Castiel to let go of him. It was not an easy task and the little guy had a killer grip to boot. Ouch, that was going to bruise. When he managed to settle the fledging enough so he was only cutting the blood flow on one of his arms as opposed to all of him, he directed his eyes towards Raphael.

If looks could kill Hariel would've died a thousand times over. As it was, looks couldn't kill so he wasn't fazed. Snape had been scarier to him when he was an impressionable eleven years old. Unfortunately for Raphael he hadn't been that little boy for a long, long time.

"He has been buried under fallen rubble for at the very least three weeks, if not more. I thought he should be a priority."

Raphael didn't have an answer to that, still he snarled: "You have a veritable army of qualified healers running after you, why not let them do their jobs?" Despite his attitude, the Archangel had immediately shifted focus from his not-critical patient to Castiel who was looking worse by the second. Hariel moved as far as he could, which wasn't very far, to let the older being do his thing.

"True, but you I know, if only by rumours, them, on the other hand, I have no idea," he tilted his head towards the scandalized healers crowding outside.

Raphael snorted but had to admit, if only to himself, that the angel's words made sense. He didn't have to like them though. He looked up and saw everybody looking at him with wide eyes.

"Well, what are you waiting for? If you have time to gawk then you have time to do double rounds!" Nobody moved "What are you still doing here? Return to your work!" The crowd scampered away faster than prey in front of a predator. Hariel whistled, impressed.

"I wish I could clear a room that fast," he responded in the face of the questioning frown directed at him.

Raphael looked at him oddly before seemingly deciding that it was too much hassle to try to figure him out and so he focused on his patient.

.

It was almost three hours later that Hariel was woken up by a strong shake on his shoulder. His reaction wasn't what the being doing the waking, or anyone else for that matter, had expected. He leaped, almost faster than they could see and landed in a crouch near the doorway, a good ten feet away. His lips were curled in a savage snarl and his hand was clutching at his angelic sword in a vice grip that turned his knuckles white. His green eyes were glowing with barely restrained power but they were also unfocused, which told the occupants of the room that the black-haired angel wasn't really seeing any of them.

Gabriel, the one who had tried to wake the other up, was gaping like a fish on land, his hand still extended and desperately trying to come up with a way to salvage the situation without getting into a fight in the middle of the Healer's Centre. Pity that his brain seemed to have short-circuited. Michael, who had been sufficiently curious at the actions of their newest brother, had left his work to see what, exactly, everyone was gossiping about. He hadn't expected Hariel, who had arrived right _after_ the war had ended, to react in the way that only the severely traumatized by unspeakable horror did. It made him frown at the endless possibilities, none of them good. Raphael, for his part, was stoically watching the scene unfold as it would, but he too was frowning.

Ironically it was Castiel who put an end to what was shaping to be an epical flashback.

"Hariel?" He asked timidly from between Michael and Raphael. He looked and obviously was better, his broken wing was in a splinter and bandaged, as was his leg; he had been extensively treated for his burns and had balm over his bruises. His grace, which had been eating itself due to the lack of an adult angel to provide for him, was once more stable, if weak. It would recover with time and rest and constant supervision, much like malnourishment. "Are you ok?"

Hariel blinked as a sweet voice that had no place in his nightmares managed to pierce the fog of his memories. He looked around with the proverbial 'deer-in-the-headlights' look plastered on his face. Then he blushed from head to toes. He resisted the urge to bash his head on the nearest flat and hopefully hard surface

"Ah, yes, I'm alright, just surprised, that's all," answered with a strained smile. It was true too, he had been surprised, badly, and it had almost ended in a disaster of some sort, the violent sort. "I'll leave now," he turned to a downcast Castiel and ignored the curious gazes that were trying to burn a hole in his skull, "but I will visit if you want me to..." he left the question hanging and got a positive response in the form of a wide smile and dimples.

Before anyone could get a word in edgewise, he disappeared in a gust of wind, a mixture of old apparition and flying.

.

The mystery that was Hariel kept nagging at the back of everyone's mind, in particular the three remaining Archangels.

Nevertheless, the initial suspicion and wariness had eased a bit when he returned with the injured Castiel in arms and on the brink of exhaustion. It wasn't easy for the angels to ignore the other's obvious oddness, but risking one's well-being for one of their own managed to smooth the way to acceptance a little, if not completely. Still, now that said fact was established, it must also be noted that first impressions were very difficult to forget. Hariel, in particular, was terrible at forgetting and forgiving. So, when someone tried to approach him, he panicked, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and practically bolted out of the city.

When the incident was repeated on the next day, and the next one, and so on, his disappearances too started to become more frequent. As time progressed each of his visits to Castiel became farther apart until he finally stopped visiting altogether as every time he was ambushed by some well-meaning 'brother'.

Hariel knew that he was being irrational and maybe a little childish, but he couldn't afford to care; not when the angels seemingly had turned out to be almost as fickle as the wizards and witches he had left behind when he died. Rationally he knew that it wasn't fair to compare them and that they were nothing alike, but as we said, first impressions tended to stick. This was especially true for Hariel who didn't truly believed that anyone but little Cass honestly cared about what he did or what may happen to him, even if some of them were trying to make amends. So he kept going off on his own, unaware that his continued and wilful isolation had caught several someone's attention and subsequent worry.

It was Gabriel the one who ended with the task of shadowing the petite angel. The reason was simple: he was the only one with the patience and the talent for such underhanded tactic. Raphael was too busy at the moment and as subtle as a hammer to the head, and Michael... Well, let's say that Michael would blow up the plan and everything in between when his explosive temper reached his rather short end. For his part, Gabriel thought that it may do the General some good to abandon his stuffy office, but his brother as always ignored his pleas, the stuck-up bastard. Still, this game was fun. Hariel was a wicked opponent and even unaware of the game the odd angel managed to shake him off half of the time. Him! Him who was the unrivalled master of hide-and-seek! That would not do!

Gabriel grumbled and huffed as the trail of his pray became cold, again, and settled on another route, _again._ He wandered around the destroyed walls of the seventh circle when he felt a spike of power. He stopped cold on his tracks. The power was familiar, barely, but the familiarity was there, now if only he could put his finger on it. Spreading his gold-trimmed wings, Gabriel took off in that direction.

He landed on a cobblestone street and could only stare, amazed, at the job that Hariel had done. He didn't recognize this street in particular but standing there was like standing with a foot and a half planted in the past. The houses: modest, white, with one or two rooms, with their flat roofs, windows and doors; the streets: narrow, slanted and made of a kind of cobblestone that was a shade darker than the walls but still white. There was also pots for plants and circular spaces for threes, benches here and there and, over the roofs, lines from where oil-lamps were hanged and lit at night. There wasn't a drop of blood anywhere, almost as if the war had never happened. Gabriel knew for a fact that this entire place had been flattened during the fight. The only difference that interrupted the feeling of déjà-vu was the lack of plants that normally would've been crawling everywhere.

Gabriel gulped past the knot in his throat and the tears gathered in his golden eyes. He moved forwards, seeking the origin of the energy that had him here to begin with.

The focus turned out to be Hariel, surprisingly, as the energy radiating for him was completely different than normal. He was seated in a meditation pose, back straight and hands on his knees. Gabriel had always thought that meditation was a torture device that his sadistic older brother had designed to punish him and everyone else, but Hariel managed to, not only pull it off, but also look relaxed, which was kind of the point, if Micky was to be believed. Hariel eyes were closed and his face was peaceful in a way that it never was when awake and aware. The realization hit Gabriel like an arrow to the chest, or maybe a maze because he suddenly felt breathless. The worry lines that had always been present on Hariel's features were absent, and ironically it was thanks to said absence that Gabe was only now noticing their existence in the first place.

The arrow of guilt was driven deeper when he noticed, also for the first time, just how young Hariel was. Without his usual unhappy frown the raven-haired angel truly looked like a kid, like the kid his brand-new grace said he was. How had they not noticed? Well, because, physically, he looked older. The realization didn't make Gabriel any happier, they should've noticed how young he was, they should've never left him all alone after arriving at a completely new place, they should've seen the deep mental scarring that caused horrific flashbacks...

The youngest Archangel musings were cut short by another pulse of power coming from Hariel. What happened next would forever been branded in his memory, right next to the memory of his Father creating the stunning beauty that was the Earth.

Hariel was seated on the same garden he had visited not long ago from where he had rescued Castiel. He had chosen that place because it was a natural focus of positive energy. There was also a lot of negative energy around but to Hariel it didn't make any difference, energy was energy. Unaware of his audience, he drew on these energies, drew them closer to himself and his own power. He didn't mix them, though. He used these alien energies to power his own in order to create the image he had pictured in his mind-eye. Then he pushed it to the soil beneath him.

All around the slim figure of the seated being life sprung and grew anew. A myriad of greens made the grass, each blade as beautiful and perfect as the next; reds, pinks, yellows, blues and purples took form of all kind of flowers, every kind of flower; shyly, a tree poked his first two leaves, followed closely by four more, ten, twenty nine and so on; vines sprang like serpents from the ground and coiled around columns and archways and the same tree that had grown until it bathed a portion of the garden in refreshing shadows. An already existing pond, whose water was contaminated and agitated, was cleansed, and plants suited for life in the water bloomed. All around life exploded. And it didn't stop in the garden, it overflowed and spilled, lending a hand so plant-life could resume its existence in the streets, in the pots and in the walls.

Hariel opened his eyes and smiled at the sight. All around him life and nature had reclaimed its rightful place. Knowing that he had been the hand to guide this little miracle lifted his spirit through the non-existent roof. And guess what? He had been right before, the garden was breathtaking.

The sound of clapping kicked him out of his high-inducing success like a kick to the head. He slowly turned his head around until his eyes rested on the slouched figure of the being he knew as the Archangel Gabriel.

Gabriel was one of the angels he was more wary about. Not because the other had done something to him, besides trying to wake him up, but because everything in his demeanour reminded Hariel of a certain man. The relaxed posture, the smirk, the somewhat cocky attitude and the mischievous glint in his eyes were all painful remainders of Sirius. He was afraid that the resemblance would make him drop his guard. Hariel watched warily as Gabriel inspected his work, not moving and barely breathing.

"I gotta say I'm impressed," he had moved from the entrance and was now crouching next to the pond, back presented to the younger angel. He looked over his shoulders and gave the wary angel a smile before plopping down on his rear, this time face to face.

Hariel shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. "I do what I can do."

Gabriel nodded. "It's still impressive. Not many can do this kind of creative work anymore, not," he gestured around, "like this."

Blushing now, Hariel couldn't come back with anything to say. Gabriel, on the other hand, was bursting with questions and literally biting his tongue to stop himself. After a moment, however, his excitement was replaced by a pensive expression. He looked around, at the life that surrounded them, and then at this new brother, the stranger with odd powers and an odder personality that had landed on their laps in the middle of a cloudy day. The little brother who had saved another little brother; the one that was followed everywhere by strands of shadows, as if they were nothing more than adorable puppies licking at his feet.

"What I don't understand is how you did it?" Gabriel gaze was serious but mostly just curious. "I was under the impression that you were of the Dark..."

"And darkness can't bring life?" Snappily challenged Hariel, surprising even himself with his rather bold attitude. The blond-haired and golden eyed angel nodded. "That's ridiculous," scoffed Hariel and turned his gaze towards the pond, finding it easier to talk that way. "Life is a circle and it's everywhere, even, or specially, in Death."

Gabriel cocked his head and watched as the youngster recovered his breath after this feat of creation. One hand was resting on his lap while the other was playing with the blades of grass. A breeze lifted golden strands of hair out of his forehead and made them dance at its whim. The only thing missing, he thought, were the chirping of birds. Hariel kept mostly still and bore the scrutiny with a resigned kind of patience. It was weird, The Messenger mused, looking at this brother that seemed to know everything while being younger than Castiel, who had the air of someone who had experienced things even beyond their comprehension and had survived to tell the tale. Hariel who had eyes so haunted but still retained his sense of self and a certain... innocence than Gabriel knew he didn't possess anymore. When he has lost it he couldn't say...

In a startling moment of clarity Gabriel thought that he wouldn't mind hearing this little brother's tales; that maybe it would be interesting and maybe... maybe he would be able to help, like he had listened and helped before everything happened, before Lucifer happened. Unlike his two older brothers who could live in insufferable solitude, he couldn't, he was social by nature and this new state of things was draining him of his life faster that the war ever did.

Anyway, no matter what he wanted, if he didn't get Hariel's trust it would be a moot point. He had the sinking feeling that this was going to be a lot more difficult than dealing with Micky in one of his bitchy moods, or Raphy when he went on a full-scale rampage each time someone messed up his instructions, or Lucy when he didn't win the weekly spars with Micky, and boy, in those days more often than not he ended wanting to rip his ears off.

Ok, so baby steps? He peered at Hariel's closed off expression. Right, baby steps, he reminded himself.

"I don't get it," Gabriel confessed, deciding to return to the matter at hand as a pivoting point. It had the added bonus of being quite fascinating, so why not.

Hariel, who had been distractedly doodling on a patch of soil, turned his head to look sideways at Gabriel's earnest face. He seemed to consider something, probably if it was worth his time to explain his previous words to the hyperactive Archangel. In the end he sighed and nodded to himself. A second later he was positioned himself more comfortably, random stick of wood in hand and the little patch of soil in between them.

"Let's see if I can explain this," muttered Hariel while twirling the piece of wood expertly in his hands. Gabriel found this dexterity a bit odd but said nothing; instead he too got comfortable and waited. A minute or so later Hariel seemed to decide on a path. "Where I lived before -and no, I won't tell you where- there was a group of people who had this interesting belief."

With a firm grip on the stick Hariel drew a perfect circle on the soil. Then he divided it in two by a curved line, making each half to look like a comma. Finally he drew two more circles, both identical and opposing each other from inside the fullest part of the comma-like form. Hariel inspected his work with a frown before sending a bit of magic into it. As a result, one half was coloured white, except for the small circle which was the black like the soil; while, on the other side, the circle was coloured white, leaving the rest black.

Gabriel followed the entire process with more than a little confusion and fascination. Seeing the form and the colours he already had an idea of where this conversation may be going.

"This symbol represents the concept of _Ying and Yang (1)_. There is a lot to be said about it but I will stick to the basics as I am no expert," Hariel warned. He wondered briefly about the fact that he was basically discussing another religion with a Christian Archangel and decided that it didn't matter. It wasn't about the religion but the idea anyway. "The _Ying and Yang_ concept is simple in essence. It is used to describe how polar opposites or seemingly contrary forces are in reality interconnected and interdependent in the natural world and how they give rise to each other in turn. As such, opposites only exist in relation to each other." He tapped the symbol drawn on the ground.

"One simple example is Light and Dark. Within this idea those two are not opposing forces but complementary opposites that interact within a greater whole, as part of a dynamic system. They are different, yes, but necessary for the other to survive and balance to be kept."

Then Hariel paused and seemed to debate over something, before sighing and resuming the lecture where he left it. "Everything has _yin and yang_ aspects as light cannot exist without darkness and vice-versa. It is possible, however, for either of these aspects to manifest more strongly in particular objects...or beings. I'm such an example."

"There was a time when I was almost entirely light, you know?" No, Gabriel didn't know and it was startling to hear. What had happened for Hariel to become darkness instead? Where had the light gone? "I lived on a place where all aspects of Dark Arts, as they call them, where feared and I learned to fear them too, even though I used to play with shadows as a child when the loneliness was too much to bear."

"I feared them so much that I started to push my own darkness down, I tried to destroy that part of me that made me, believing it to be wrong and dangerous." He sighed and slumped tiredly, as if the weight of past mistakes was still pressing on him. And in a way it was. "I was a fool. I should've known that it wouldn't last but..." He interrupted himself and glared at nothing in particular.

"Then something terrible happened, something so... painful that the barriers of self-denial that I had built were destroyed, crushed beyond anything I could've imagined." Here Hariel laughed but it wasn't a happy or nice sound, it was painful and hollow and it made Gabriel flinch. The Archangel's attention never wavered though. He had a feeling that the green-eyed angel would not be repeating this story any time soon. "The Dark swallowed me in revenge, crushed everything Light in me. Or so I thought. I still don't know how but a tiny flame resisted the onslaught and survived, if barely."

Hariel's hands were glowing a bright, lovely white in the same shade that the Morning Star used to glow. With his face scrunched up in concentration the angel gently directed the flow towards the bare soil and almost immediately grass grew and flowers bloomed. It was beautiful. And it was taxing on Hariel who was left panting afterwards. He let the glow die and watched at his hands mournfully.

"It's too soon," he whispered. He looked up and locked eyes misted with tears with Gabriel's own teary gaze. The pain in that look, in the very air, was unbearable. "I'm still recovering," he confessed and, at the same time, confirmed Gabriel's suspicions that whatever had happened it happened not long ago. "I can't access much of the light side of my power and I know that I'll never be able to do it like before." Gabriel looked mutinous at that but Hariel cut him off before he could even open his mouth to protest. "I can't. It's already a miracle that I didn't end like..." he gulped, "like your Morning Star."

Gabriel recoiled as if slapped. His golden eyes were wide and desperate and in so much pain, it tore Hariel inside. But this needed to be said in order for past mistakes not to be repeated, so that the future would be better that what he had glimpsed at. Anything was better than that apocalyptic inferno he had seen.

So Hariel continued in spite of Gabriel's silent plea to _shut up, please._

"That was why the brightest of us ended being the darkest of all." He was not looking at Gabriel anymore, he couldn't bear witness to that pain. "He probably hated the darkness more than I did but... but light only exist in contrast with its dark counterpart, that's a fact, and ignoring your darkness it's not good, not good at all. He must be in so much pain now..." Hariel was now hugging himself and tears were streaming down his cheeks but he didn't seem to notice. He even forgot that he had an audience.

"What do you mean he is in pain?" Gabriel's words snapped him back from his memories. However, it was the sheer idiocy of the question angered him.

"How would you feel if I were to cut you in half right now but left you alive to experience it? That's how I felt when most of my Light was snuffed out, as if someone had picked up a spoon and carved half of myself out. How do you think he is feeling right now, with nothing but a hungry abyss of nothingness nested in his core?"

Once again Gabriel reared back, wide-eyed and looking almost as young, scared and hurt as Hariel himself. Hariel felt a bit guilty but not enough to apologize, he had only said the truth after all. They stayed in silence for a long time, doing nothing but soak on Nature's tranquillity. Finally, Gabriel broke the silence.

"Why tell me all this? What purpose does it serve? Broth- Lucifer fell, he is not here anymore."

Hariel didn't answer immediately. Instead he turned his eyes towards his older brother and proceeded to examine him. Looking for what, Gabriel couldn't say, but Hariel didn't offer any reason and only answered when he seemed to find whatever he had been looking for.

"He's not," he agreed. "But you and everyone else are. What makes you think that what happened once can't happen twice?" Gabriel eyes widened and understanding dawned on them. But Hariel wasn't done. "Some things cannot be prevented, some events will always be out of our control no matter what we do but that doesn't mean that we cannot try to make it better. It doesn't mean that we can stop caring or fighting for the good of the world. It doesn't mean that we have to just roll with the punches. The future is not set in stone, more like very hard sand if you ask me," here he scoffed. Something that had not changed was his hatred of every and all kinds of Divination. The mere word left a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn't rid off no matter what he tried.

"Why would I have asked you that?"

Hariel stood and dusted his clothes absently.

"Well, I'm alive, aren't I?" He said with a self-satisfying smirk.

Gabriel mouth hanged open. Why indeed.

It didn't occur to Gabriel until much later that he had seen Hariel's first and genuine pseudo-smile since the little angel had crashed into Heaven on that memorable and cloudy day.

.

.

Gabriel was pacing and mumbling incomprehensible things to himself while the Winchester brothers, Bobby Singer, a bunch of humans hunters and a multitude of angels watched in amusement. Well, the humans watched in amusement as the angels were too dignified and disciplined to outright laugh at their commander, even if he _was_ acting funny.

Outside of their base of operations the sun was starting to peek over the horizon, signalling the start of a new day and everything that came with it, namely a horde of demon-possessed humans ready to tear them limb for limb. Gabriel scrunched up his nose in disgust at the thought.

Looking around he couldn't help but remember all the things that had changed since Hariel's arrival and later his mysterious disappearance. If Hariel hadn't talked to him that day, hadn't explained the once strange concept of yin and yang, if he hadn't confided in him about part of his past and shared his knowledge on what had really happened to Lucifer... well he wasn't sure what would've happened, but he knew that he wouldn't be amongst humans, leading them and a good portion of his brothers to battle against an army of demons hell-bent on freeing his once beloved older brother.

Without Hariel and later Castiel, who used to follow the green-eyed angel like a duckling much to The Messenger's never ending amusement, Gabriel may've done something monumentally stupid, like leaving Heaven. He could see now how much damage his desertion would've caused to Michael and Raphael, both of them had already been on the path to losing themselves, just like him. His abandonment may've been the little thing to push them over the edge.

Hariel's teachings had become common knowledge after a fashion and, while not everybody accepted them, some did and that had changed everything. Hariel became well loved by most of them and after a trial period the black-haired angel finally returned the love and started to heal from his own wounds. For a long time everything was perfect.

Then Hariel had disappeared. He had left nothing behind except for his teachings, a soul-tearing and never-ending pain and a short message:

'_I'll be back when you less expect it. Love, Hariel.'_

Thousands of years had passed and he still wasn't back. But they had persevered, or most of them had. Some angels had never liked Hariel and were happy to see him go, even if they were excruciatingly careful to not let it show for fear of what would happen. The result of that perseverance was clear now, here, with angels and humans working together and ready to fight till death if that prevented the end of all life on Earth.

In another life, in one without Hariel, Gabriel could easily imagine just how bad this would've gone, with only the Winchester brothers and their little circle of hunter friends to fend off the hordes of Hell. Hell, he could imagine the awful place that Heaven would've become, the ugly parody that had started to rear its ugly head immediately after Lucifer's betrayal.

Gabriel sighed and looked at the sun again. It had completely risen while he had been lost in his thoughts. A ray of sunshine amongst many reached him and gently caressed the pendant he had taken to wearing after a certain brother disappearance. He put a hand over it, caressing the warm metal with careful fingers. He still found it hilarious that Hariel had used another religion's ideas to illustrate his thoughts and had taken to wearing a _yin and yang_ pendant, hung in a silver chain, as a reminder of his little brother's teachings and wicked sense of humour.

It was worth it if only for the sour face Michael displayed each time he caught a glimpse of it. Not that the General of Heaven ever said anything against it. Actually, Gabriel was pretty sure that Micky had his own pendant hidden somewhere, he just needed proof and whoila! Instant blackmail material.

He sighed and turned around to address his soldiers when the strangest thing happened. The door bell sounded. Problem was they didn't have a bell even if they did have a door for the humans to use. Whoever was on the other side was impatient as the bell sounded again, this time louder.

"Gabe! You'd better open up now or I swear I'll..." the sentence was never finished as a second later the door flung open and Gabriel flung himself at the stranger who let out a breathless 'oof' and fell flat on his back, lap full of happy Archangel. He tried to squirm his way out of the embrace but gave up soon after. "I missed you too, you big oaf."

"Hariel," a rough voice whispered with so much relief that he could probably soak in it. The newly identified Hariel looked around and his eyes locked on the form of a man of medium stature, lean, with messy black hair and the bluest eyes ever seen on a human, eyes that did nothing to hide the power lurking behind them.

"Hey little Cass," he said much to the humans growing confusion and diminishing wariness, "you can join if you want just..."

Once more he couldn't finish as the air was forcefully expulsed from his lungs for a second time. Gabriel squealed in outrage at being displaced but simply re-accommodated his vessel's body to let Cass crush... eer, embrace his big brother, saviour and pseudo-father figure.

"...d-on't jump o-on me..." finished Hariel lamely. "Y-you guys will be the death of me, I swear..." wheezed Hariel, breathless but sporting a wide smile all the same.

Gabriel sniffed playfully. "Get used to it. You've many years of glomping to make up for."

"Great," commented sarcastically Hariel. But everything was soon forgotten in favour of smiling in happiness. He couldn't see much from his position under two grown men but he could still hear the happy and exited whispers form his brothers and feel the smiles concealed in them. It was good to know that he had been fondly missed. He had missed them too. But first things first; they had a mission to complete. "So... are we ready to kick some ass?"

Castiel looked at him with wide and innocent eyes, just like eons ago; while Gabriel fell over, fortunately not on him, trapped in the middle of a laughing attack.

Castiel nodded seriously. And then he opened his mouth.

"Let's gank the bastards."

The laughing resumed after a beat of incredulous silence, stronger than before and shared by everyone, even the humans shared a couple of chuckles although they didn't yet understand much of what was going on.

"By the way," said Gabriel after recovering his breath, "welcome Home brother."

"It's good to be back."

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><p><strong>(1)<strong> _Ying and yang_ information was taken from the internet, mainly wikipedia. My knowledge of it it's limited to what everybody knows.


	13. Conviction

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Luna Lovegood, Castiel._  
><strong>Pairings:<strong>_ None._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K._**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Angst (come on, it's SPN!)_**  
>Summary: <strong> _Castiel's accidental encounter with Luna and how his world was flipped upside down. Again. He really, really wished humans would stop doing that._  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. Only this madness is mine. however, is mine.  
><em>**Words: **_3174._

**AN:**_ Not sure about the characterization. I tried, but Luna's difficult... so yeah... Why don't you guys tell me? _

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><p><strong>13. Conviction.<strong>

Ever since he opened his eyes for the first time Castiel's belief in his Father was unshakable, he loved Him and had the utmost faith in Him, in His benevolence, His intentions and His plans. He grew and learned until he was ready to serve his Father as a soldier in the Holy army; he was a good fighter and an even better soldier, one of many. In all the time Castiel spent fighting in the front lines, despite being witness to terrible acts of violence and corruption, his faith remained firm and unwavering. More recently he and his garrison had literally invaded Hell on His orders. Castiel fought his way into the heart of Hell with his brother by his side, he hadn't flinched in the face of the fire, the corruption and the sheer malevolence that festered there; so assured he was of his Father's orders, that if he had to lay his life down he would do it happily because he knew it would be for the betterment of everyone else.

A lot had happened since then, all in the minuscule span of a year and a half. He had fought again, tirelessly, endlessly. He had been lied to and had lied to others as ordered, regardless of the bitter taste the lies left in his mouth. He had started to develop forbidden feelings, human feelings; he started to doubt the righteousness of his orders and had betrayed his own family. Then he had been yanked back to Heaven to be disciplined and he had betrayed again and again, one side and the other, so many times that even now, after finally picking a side, he still wasn't sure on who, exactly, he had betrayed and even how or when. Such had been the extent of his confusion, to the point that for a while he had forgotten what loyalty was supposed to feel like.

In the end, what mattered the most was that half of the things he had done he did them in the name of humanity, or most specifically, in the name of Dean Winchester. Not his Father's.

Still, no matter how much his loyalty wavered and his convictions were stamped on, his faith never broke. It was attacked every day and it bent at times, there was no denying that fact, but it was never broken. Even if he was disappointed and more human with each passing day, his faith in his Father remained firm. Nevertheless, even he was prone to doubting now and then and it was those doubts and a burning desire to prove Dean wrong about God that spurned him every second of every day to find said his Father.

So far all his efforts had been for naught. Even with Dean's amulet clutched firmly in his hands, no matter what lead he followed, or where he went, there was no sign of God. Not one sign. It was disheartening for the angel but he didn't dare give up because this was the last hope he had, the only plan they had. That's how he came to this place.

He was on top of a hill, close to a small cluster of trees. From his vantage point he could see the little village of both mundane and magical humans. A little apart from the village proper he could see a lone house that was strange even to him with the way it defied gravity, a magical house then. He knew that there were a couple more houses nearby, all magical. One of those was precisely on top of this hill, on the other side of the trees. As an angel, even as a disgrace to his race, he didn't need his vessel's eyes to know it was there. He could feel the magical energy wafting from the magical construct. There was one thing that caught Castiel attention, though.

The house was protected. He could feel the subtle but powerful strings that treaded into a strong net against the supernatural, against angels and demons specifically. It was puzzling to the angel. Normally, magical people paid no attention to either angels or demons, disbelieving the former and being immune to the later. He wished he could investigate this confusing situation but with those protections...

"Hello angel," greeted a feminine and airy voice.

Had Castiel been anyone else he would've surely cursed, jumped into the air and fell to the ground in surprise, not in that particular order either. Had he been anything like Dean Winchester he would've cursed, shoot and only then asked questions, in that exact order. As it was, even thought he had been startled, he limited himself to turning around in order to face the newcomer. Said person was a young woman, barely out of girlhood, and completely unique in many subtle ways; she was petite and rather short in stature, she had long platinum blonde hair and fair skin that was marred by numerous, if barely visible, scars. But the most noticeable thing to Castiel were her eyes: big and almond shaped, they were coloured like the summer sky and gave off the same kind of feeling: endless and breathtaking. In short, they were unnatural, which was kind of ironic coming from an angel.

All this observations were made in less than a second. He didn't answer immediately though, trying as he was to pinpoint what exactly was that made her different from any other natural-born witch. Whatever it was it was familiar and closely connected to her eyes and her slightly different magic. Not for the first time Castiel felt bitterness swell up inside at his situation. Only a few months ago he would've been able to tell the difference with nothing but a look.

"It's impolite to stare, you know?" Luna admonished the falling angel. Despite the nature of her words nothing in her tone indicated that she was angry at being both ignored and stared at. Actually, nothing in her voice had changed; it was the same absent and airy tone from before.

Castiel tilted his head in acknowledgement; Dean had said the same thing many times before. "My apologies."

Luna's smile, minuscule until now, widened and with it her entire self seemed to brighten and glow. It was like a switch that had been flickered.

"It's alright. You haven't been here for long after all."

Worry started gnawing at the edge of Castiel's mind. Her greeting to him indicated that she knew of what he was, which was suspicious in itself, but how could she know anything about him specifically?

"I do not understand"

"I've a radio too, you know," she said, the non-sequitur throwing Castiel off his game enough that he didn't protest when the woman grabbed one of Jimmy's hands -no, they were his now, he was falling so they were his, weren't they? She started to guide him through the woods in the direction of the protected property. "I get frequencies form everywhere but sometimes I catch the Angel Station. It's quite interesting to listen to, even if they seem to have a severe infestation of wrackspurts, you too..."

This time it was Castiel who reacted, he reversed the grip she had on his hand and planted himself firmly on the ground. Nothing short of an earthquake, God or an immediate threat to the Winchesters would be able to move him now.

"Who are you?"

Luna peered at him as if confused by his sudden change in attitude. Castiel noted that she didn't seem worried, so either she didn't understand the situation at all or she understood it too well and was prepared to deal with him. He couldn't decide what was worse. "Ohhh, I didn't introduce myself, did I? How silly of me! My name's Luna Lovegood, but some people just call me Loony," the blonde said with a smile that never faltered. "And you're Castiel."

His grip on her fragile hand tightened a bit, enough to be uncomfortable but not yet painful.

"How do you know my name?" The angel growled. "How could you know what I am? Angels have not walked the Earth for millennia," although they've been around quite a lot in the past months he admitted in his head.

Luna blinked in confusion and tilted her head a bit in a manner that mirrored Castiel's gestures eerily. "I listened," she stated simply, like it was obvious. To Castiel it wasn't and his frustration showed clearly on the pinched look his face had acquired.

An idea occurred to him and it was his turn to peer at the girl in curiosity. A moment later he drew back in confusion. Ever since Lucifer's escape from his cage and Castiel's subsequent rebellion against Heaven's machinations, the later had lost quite a lot of himself but he wasn't yet at a level of powerlessness where he wouldn't recognize a fallen angel if he saw one. Luna wasn't a fallen angel but there was something about her that didn't add up, her aura was the purest he had seen on a human in a long time, for starters, and her eyes bothered him, they were too sharp, they saw things that no mortal had any business in seeing, they were angel's eyes, angel's eyes on a too human body, he realized with horrified fascination. How on Earth was she still alive, not to mention sane?

He asked her as much.

For the first time in the entire meeting Luna looked away, pain etched in her elfin features.

"Mom saved me," she said. "She was an angel, once upon a time. When she started remembering things she told us what she knew: that she'd been too curious, that Earth and humanity were too fascinating not to investigate and that in doing so she fell. That's why she died too." Luna's eyes were distant, lost in memory, and her voice had lost its dreamy quality.

Castiel could think of only one angel that fit that description completely: Nanael, the angel of the science and philosophy. Castiel had never met her in person but everyone in Heaven had heard her name, she'd been the first angel to fall after centuries of absolutely no disobedience, it had been a terrible shock to everyone then, especially to Annael. Both angels had been good friends, Nanael's passion fitting rather well with Annael unlimited curiosity, who became a bit withdrawn afterwards but nobody thought much of it, at least until Annael followed in Nanael footsteps a mere decade later, rocking heaven once again.

And now he was talking with Nanael's daughter who, by all intents and purposes, shouldn't even be alive. Nephilim were a fact of life (a mistake that had been thoroughly erased from history) but Luna wasn't a nephilim, not quite. Nanael hadn't been an angel when she and her human husband had conceived Luna and yet the girl had inherited an angel's sight. That power wouldn't have been lethal, not at first, but in time the strain would've been too much for the girl's mortal body and human mind; in short, it would've driven Luna insane, if her body didn't fail her first of course. Obviously it hadn't happened and Castiel found himself surprised in spite of himself. Nanael hadn't been the most intelligent and resourceful angel of Heaven for nothing, he supposed, it was quite possible that even as a human she'd retained enough forbidden knowledge to save her daughter from Death's clutches. It obviously happened, the evidence was talking to him right now.

"Does it hurt?"

The question startled Castiel right out of his thoughts. He directed a blank look to the girl, his niece, if he were to think on human terms. His thoughts stumbled a bit.

"What?" He didn't know if he was asking her or himself, really.

"Falling," she clarified. "Does falling hurt?"

"I- yes... it hurts." Castiel admitted in honest surprise. Nobody had asked him that. Dean knew that he was losing his grace, slowly but surely becoming human, but Castiel hadn't expanded on the details and, true to form, Dean hadn't asked. Sam had, but the angel wasn't quite as willing to talk to Sam as he was Dean, much to the young man's disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Luna said sincerely, "but it won't last forever."

"I know." Castiel managed to say around the lump lodged in his throat. If things keep going as they were he would lose what little grace he had managed to keep until now. Then he would be human, useless and quite possible memoriless. But until that day came he would keep fighting for what he believed was right.

"He's very proud of you, you know."

Castiel blinked owlishly down at her. "Who...?" Who would be proud of a failure like him? He'd failed as an angel, he was failing at stopping the Apocalypse and, if the pattern held, he was going to fail as a human.

"Granddad," the blood inside Castiel's vessel suddenly turned to ice. There was no way, no, just no. "He wanted me to pass on a message," continued Luna as if she hadn't dropped the equivalent of a nuclear bomb on the angel's head.

"A message?" Castiel croaked, unwilling and unsure about believing his niece words. He could sense no lies from her and why would she lie to him anyway.

"'Everything will be alright'"

"That's all?" The incredulous question came unbidden to his lips, making the angel fold his wings in embarrassment even though he didn't regret it. It was an instinctual response and one nobody usually noticed. Except that right now he was in the company of a girl who had even better eyes that him.

Luna hummed an affirmative. The falling angel opened his mouth to say something, maybe protest but he was derailed when, once again, she took control of the tug of war between their hands. "Come," she ordered and this time Castiel followed obediently, too confused to protest.

They exited the woods behind the Lovegood residence. Castiel noticed the shape, a rook, and had to refrain from smiling at Dean's reaction should he ever see it. Between the house and the woods there was a large and slightly overgrown garden. Somebody obviously had made an effort to care for it but it was obvious that they weren't very gifted in gardening.

"It was my mother's." Was all Luna had to say and Castiel nodded. She guided him towards a patch of healthy grass where a picnic was laid out. "Join me?"

"I do not need sustenance," Castiel said even as he sat down on the chequered blanket and accepted a slice of treacle tart.

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy it," the blonde admonished with a bright smile that lit her being and stretched a few of the scars on her face. Tentatively, Castiel returned the smile and took a bite out of his portion. His blue eyes widened a bit in innocent surprise. Luna beamed.

"I believe him, you know," Luna said almost like an afterthought, her voice had once again taken on that distant and airy quality.

It was late. The stars shined brightly in the countryside and the angel and the witch were enjoying the view greatly. It was a bit cold but Luna had transfigured a handkerchief into a warm blanket and the falling angel retained enough of his true nature not to be bothered.

Castiel frowned down at the unexpected niece he'd discovered by mistake, caught off guard. Again. It was becoming a common occurrence, too common. "Who?"

She looked at him with bright and distant eyes, which didn't lessen the intensity of her stare a bit. "Granddad. I believe in Him."

Castiel didn't answer at first. He returned his eyes to the night sky and mulled on her conviction. It was both familiar and unfamiliar to him that kind of conviction. As an angel of the Lord he'd felt something similar, he'd been absolutely sure of his path, of the righteousness of his actions simply because they came from his superiors who supposedly listened to their Father. But that kind of conviction paled in comparison to Luna's. She believed, not because obedience was carved into her very being or because she was told it was the right thing to do, but because she wanted to. She'd decided, on her own and for her own reasons, to believe on his Father and that certainty showed in the unwavering brightness of her soul.

It was a lot like his unconscious decision to put his faith on Dean Winchester...

Castiel froze. He had known, on some level, that _that_ was exactly what he had been doing all this time. But he hadn't truly acknowledged the reality of it, not even in his own head. He believed in Dean Winchester. He had more faith in Dean than in his own Father. He didn't know whether he felt more horrified than elated or the other way around. Of one thing he was completely sure though, he was terrified of what that could mean.

He was distracted from the maelstrom of his feelings by Luna bumping shoulders with him. She wasn't looking his way though; her eyes were fixated on the stars as if they possessed the answers to all her questions. He wished they did.

"It's ok. You don't have to share my beliefs."

"I- I wish I did, but..."

She finally lowered her eyes from the firmament and looked at him. She was smiling still but her smile was sad.

"I know," Luna soothed, her voice was just a touch wistful, "and I know it's hard and that it'll only get harder before the end but end it will, and when it does everything will be ok."

It was too much. He looked away, away from the crushing conviction on her eyes, away from the hope he could feel trying to take root in him, away from the potential heartbreak he wasn't sure he would be able to survive. Because, however clueless Castiel may be when it came to human customs, he definitely wasn't an idiot and it meant something the fact that God went to all the trouble of passing a message through an, until now, unknown party rather that come Himself. He just didn't know what exactly it meant or how much it would cost and hurt him to find out.

"I must leave."

Luna nodded but delayed him by taking one of his arms. Her blue eyes were the most focused they had been all day and they were looking at him, the real being behind the fleshy exterior. A wave of healing magic, warm and soothing, washed over his vessel, healing and refreshing him. He hadn't realized he was hurting until it was done and he was left feeling better than he had in weeks.

"Take better care of yourself, uncle. You're not indestructible."

The angel nodded and, once he was freed from her grasp, he vanished in a flap of wings.

Luna smiled at the stars.

"Goodbye, uncle."


	14. Healer: Name

**Title: **_Dancing with Angels_  
><strong>Author: <strong>_Yeziel Moore_**  
>Fandom:<strong> _HP-SPN_  
><strong>Characters:<strong> _Harry, archangel Raphael._**  
>Rating: <strong>_K+_**  
>Warnings: <strong>_Cameo from -Man (no knowledge needed). Religion._**  
>Summary: <strong>_In which Harry is bold, Petunia is more than she seems, new things are discovered and walls are knocked down. _  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter. Only this madness is mine. however, is mine.  
><em>**Words:**_ 2123._

**AN:**_ I don't want to look like I'm covering my ass with this but, I am most certainly __**not**__ Catholic and I live nowhere near England. I love churches from an aesthetical point of view and because my grandma's house is near the biggest church in my city and as a child I used to sneak inside to play and generally be in awe at my surroundings. The religion though? I went to a Protestant church not a Catholic one, and we share a lot of things (because I went to Mass a couple of times because of friends and weddings so I know a thing or two) but there are enough differences to mess up everything._

_So, again, I mean no insult to anyone and please correct me if I mangled things too much._

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><p><strong> 14. Healer: Name.<strong>

Harry's birthdays were noteworthy only in the sense that they _weren't_, or, in the last couple of years, by all the new and creative ways in which his relatives would make it miserable for him. Today was Sunday and it was his birthday again, his ninth birthday to be precise, and from the moment Harry opened his eyes to the greyish light filtering through the crack under the door of his cupboard he knew it would be different. He would make it so.

"Aunt Petunia," he called as they cooked breakfast and waited for her to acknowledge him before going on. "I want to go to Mass today."

For a second after the words 'I want' left his lips Petunia looked ready to slap him, but the violence building in her eyes vanished into stunned surprise as he finished his request (_careful, that sounded a bit too much like a demand_, his mind reminded him and he almost winced).

"Why?" Petunia asked, lips pursed and eyes sharp, like a predator stalking prey. It was unsettling, seeing his aunt as anything but the vapid, shallow woman she painted herself as, but also strangely relieving because she was taking him seriously.

Harry considered her and his answer carefully. He knew his aunt was Catholic. She had learnt the Lord's Word at her father's knees when she was little (Harry liked to believe and imagine his mother doing the same) and had never missed Mass unless it couldn't be helped. At least until she fell in love and married a man who had all the faith (and brilliance) of a brick wall. Naturally, she hadn't told Harry any of this but he had overheard her talking to Dudley in the past, when she still held hope of passing her religion and faith into her son.

It hadn't worked. Dudley couldn't sit still for ten minutes if his life depended on it and had even less interest in God than Vernon did. The one time she had forced the boy into his best clothes and inside a church had been a disaster of epic proportions and had almost gotten the entire family banned from the grounds. They certainly didn't want to see Dudley again until the boy learnt to behave like a civilized being and to keep his thoughts to himself.

Truthfully, in the faith department Harry was no better than his uncle and cousin, but he was quiet and had learnt to be respectful out of self-preservation alone. It didn't hurt that the local church was something new and exciting if a bit daunting and scary for a four-years-old. It had been an enjoyable trip, all things considered. But no-one cared about Harry's opinion, and his aunt had been so angry about everything after that one visit that he hadn't dared voice it, just in case. He knew she missed it though, and four years were enough for her anger to dissipate, right? He could only hope.

"I liked it, back then, and I thought, I _think_, that it could be nice, to learn more about God and the angels and everything," he didn't quite met her eyes as he said this, afraid that she may sense the half lie in his words, and hoping it came off as nervousness.

It wasn't a complete lie either, Harry _did_ want to learn, specifically he wanted to know more about angels; on the other hand, he could care less about God except as collateral knowledge, because he was quite sure you couldn't learn about angels without knowing about God too. Everything he had read and heard until now said so.

"Fine!" Petunia said sharply. She eyed him with distrust and disgust but he didn't think the emotions were as genuine or intense as usual. "Leave those dished in the table, I will finish. Go upstairs and take a shower. Also put on your best clothes and comb your hair, I won't have you looking like a hooligan inside the Lord's house!" He couldn't help it, he gaped at her. She frowned. "What are you waiting for, you stupid boy, go!"

He went.

.

The visit to the church was and wasn't what he expected. Mass was somehow both boring and riveting. He didn't know the songs and tripped over the ritual words and in general felt utterly lost and out of his depth, which he should've expected but for some reason hadn't. Not to say it wasn't interesting, because it was, in its own way. There just was something in the air, a certain energy and tension that he couldn't explain but pressed around him like a well used coat, snug and warm and comfortable. It felt familiar too and that more than anything allowed him to relax and enjoy the moment of communion for what it was.

Once it was over he stayed. Petunia hadn't been happy about it but something about participating again in Mass after years without must have struck a chord in her because she relented and allowed it as long as he behaved and returned before nightfall. He promised and finally he was left alone except for a few stragglers and the old priest.

After walking around some and satisfying his curiosity about the many inscriptions he didn't really understand and watching his fill of the equally beautiful and disturbing paintings and statues (not _all_ of them but _some_ were going to give him nightmares, he just knew), Harry returned to his new favourite spot in a shadowed corner and allowed himself to bask in the peace and silence. Privet Drive was almost never this silent, and when it was, it never was peaceful.

He wondered what the angel thought of all this, of the things the priest said, of the intense feeling he had gotten during Mass, of love and forgiveness and all the other lies they had been told. Angels existed so Harry believed God existed too even if he didn't trust Him, and he wondered, what was God really like? Was He really was as forgiving as the priest said? Could He really love someone like Harry? What would it feel like, to be loved unconditionally? Or where those lies too? The same way 'love your neighbour as yourself' was a lie?

"Penny for your thoughts?" A vaguely familiar voice asked to his left, a bit too close for comfort.

Harry started and nearly fell from the pew but managed to catch himself in time to avoid embarrassing himself in front of the priest who... was much younger than Harry's first impression of him; it probably was the man's hair fault, which was shockingly white in colour. The other's youth made that wary and distrustful thing in Harry's chest ease a little for some reason the boy couldn't grasp.

"I... what?"

"Mm, you have been here for almost two hours thinking deep thoughts and being way too serious for a kid," the priest said with an easy smile that drew a blush of embarrassment and a mumbled apology from Harry. "Don't worry, kid. Silence is kind of the norm here, is just a bit unexpected, that's all." The priest leaned back, making himself comfortable in the frankly torturous pews. Harry thought that he looked quite at home like that, legs crossed at the ankles and globed hands entwined over his stomach and a gentle smile on his lips. "So... thoughts?"

Harry shrugged and followed the priest's line of sight to the huge cross behind the altar. He averted his eyes quickly. He couldn't remember if the man on the cross had been named during Mass but he didn't like the look of utter agony on his painted face. It was... disturbing and uncomfortably familiar. He switched instead to the one of the colourful windows, the one with the angel.

"I... um, I was just thinking 'bout angels. They're..." he trailed off, unsure on how to finish that sentence. "I like them."

"Who doesn't?" The priest smiled kindly at him. "Do you know the name of this church... uh, sorry, but, what was your name again?"

"Harry," the boy said in between giggles.

"My name's Allen Walker*, it's a pleasure Harry." They shook hands. "But as I was saying, do you know what this church is called?" Harry frowned, trying to remember but gave up when he couldn't. "It's named after him,**" Father Walker pointed towards the window, "his name is Raphael. He's an Archangel, they are the most powerful angels in Heaven, and he's the patron of travelers, the blind, happy meetings, healers…***"

"Healing?" Harry interrupted, suddenly far more interested.

Father Walker arched an amused eyebrow at him and Harry blushed and ducked his head, abashed at his daring. "M'sorry!"

The man laughed, a happy and warm sound the little boy wasn't used to hear, not directed at him, not like that without a mocking edge. "It's fine Harry, no need to apologize." Harry tentatively returned the smile. "Would you like me to tell you more? I have time."

Harry craned his head to see through the open doors and the bright light spilling inside. He had time too. He nodded to the white haired man. "Yes, please."

.

All in all the day had been a success in Harry's book and certainly the best birthday the boy had ever had. He had even managed to wrangle permission from his aunt to attend catechism at St. Raphael's church three times a week after school with the class Father Walker taught.

Once dinner was eaten, the dishes washed and dried, Harry bid his relatives goodnight (he received grunts from the males and an unfathomable look from his aunt) and retired to the familiar space that was his cupboard. Father Walker had talked at length about angels and even answered his questions before moving onto faith and God and Jesus and so many wonderful and terrible things that Harry was going to need a lot of time just to sort it all out in his head, never mind his heart.

Time was something Harry had in spades though, despite the chores he did for the Dursleys, so that was okay, and he could think while working so there was that too. But there was one thing he could do right now, something he had done already but now that he could pin a name to his guardian he felt like he should do it again, this time properly.

He didn't kneel at the end of the bed because, one: he didn't have a bed, and two: there wasn't enough space. Still, he clasped his hands and bowed his head and just... talked. He talked about anything and everything but mostly about today, how it was his birthday and it was almost over and how he'd passed most of the time in church and how it had been amazing and a bit scary; he talked about all the things he'd learnt, all the questions he still has and doubts he can't shake. Finally he thanked him, for saving his life and for being around when he could even though Father Walker had said that Archangels were very busy because they were the most powerful angels in Heaven.

"... Thank you again, Raphael, and, um, goodnight."

Raphael was in Heaven, taking care of the wounded of a recent demon attack, when his charge's prayer reached him and he unconsciously tuned into it. As it tended to happen when he was this swamped with work, he had lost track of time. It hadn't been long, a couple of days at worst, but he had completely forgot about Harry's birthday. At least until the tinny voice of the child he was supposed to look out for reached out to him in the form of a prayer, telling him all about the things he had missed and leaving him strangely energized as well as curiously guilty.

It was a just child, 9 years old, little more than a baby even by human standards, but there was something in those honest words, some indescribable feeling that tore right through his defences and lodged itself deep in what passed for a heart in an angel. It caused something inside his being, something hard and heavy and dark, to crack and shift for the first time in millennia. Ignoring his brothers and sisters Raphael flew away and once he was alone he shrunk into himself, he wasn't hurt per se (he was a healer, he could tell) but something felt off all of sudden and he didn't understand what or why, he emotionally _couldn't_ understand, not yet and not for some time. But eventually...

Well, time would tell and time was all they had ahead of them.

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><p><strong>*<strong> Allen Walker is the protagonist of D. Gray-Man. This is not a ~Man crossover so don't fret my dears. I just discovered I enjoy dragging characters from everywhere else instead of creating an army of OCs.

****** Apparently, unless the internet is lying to me, there is a St. Raphael church in Surrey, England. I found out after I finished writing this, so, sorry for any inconsistencies.

******* The archangel Raphael is the patron of all those things according to Wikipedia. And matchmakers too, but little Harry interrupted.

Again, I mean no disrespect to anyone's religion. I just tried to imagine the reaction of a cynical and abused little boy to, not only the majestic sight that a Catholic churches tend to be, but also to God's word. When Harry thinks that the priest's words are lies it's because all his life he has seen and experienced the opposite to love and forgiveness, etc.


End file.
